Love Is Pain
by Mr Jammin
Summary: A story that takes place after the events at 'Kings Row' (London) Tracer is left to deal with her emotions after a brush with death. But when life takes an unexpected turn, what or who, will Tracer choose. Does contain Violence, Drama and sexual scenes.
1. Love Is Pain

**() Overwatch – Love Is Pain () CHAPTER ONE**

"Tracer…. Tracer can you hear me…"

"I don't understand why it is so difficult for you to just reply." Winston rubbed is eyes in frustration, he grabbed the communicator again.

"Tracer, please… where are you… it's been two days. It's not your fault that he was killed. You did everything you could."

Winston stared at the object in his hand hoping that she would respond. She disappeared after The Widowmaker killed the Omnic Leader, and no one had seen or heard a thing from her. Winston was about to try again when he heard static come from the receiver.

"Shhhhhh shhh *Thck*…. Ah, sorry luv, ad me-self some communication troubles. Ope *sniff* ope I didn't worry ya."

Winston sighed with relief, "Tracer, thank god you're okay. Please, PLEASE come back to HQ, were…. Worried about you"

"Ha ya shouldn't worry luv, I'll be there in thirty. I didn't know you all *sniff* you all cared this much about lil old me"

Winston knew tracer long enough to hear when she was upset, and he could get that she had been crying.

"Okay, but please, no detours." and with that Winston turned off his communicator.

 **()()()**

The icy night air burned the back of her throat. The only sound filling her pierced ears, was the sound of her own feet on the cobble path. Her uneven breaths caused mist to form in front of her liquid brown eyes. Black mascara running down her freckled cheeks, staining her smooth pale skin. The communicator hanging loosely between her thumb and pointer finger. The chilled metal making her fingers feel numb and distant. The orange visor she wore, was strapped around her slender neck, resting upon her chest. Her gaze unfocused and without purpose, she just kept walking. Her legs seemed to be disconnected from her mind. The ghostly images of Mondatta's lifeless body flashed in the back of her glassy eyes. And all but a single thought flooded her troubled mind. I failed… Her shoulders felt as if they had the weight of the world upon them. She let her own fear get the best off her…the fear of loneliness…of emptiness…of despair. The fear of being trapped. Locked from time and space. She choose to let her hero die. Just so she wouldn't go back to the void that had claimed her, all those years ago. The chronal accelerator's bright blue glow was the only source of light that illuminated the dark alley. Its smooth metal running across her chest and lower back, the harness strapped to her slender form. Its soft hum constantly reminding her of its presence. It was a blessing but also a curse, the constant anxiety. All the buts and what ifs. However, in the end, it was the only thing in the world that was anchoring her to the present time. And for that, she was grateful.

The familiar site of the twenty story building complex greeted her, its towering size dwarfed the small British girl. Her legs sluggishly moving around the large concrete base of the structure, down a small passage. Barely two metres apart from the surrounding buildings, their walls coated with tattered posters and wanted signs. Presumably about her team members or even herself. Ahhhh yes. Those were the good old days, when life was so much simpler. People would line up for hours on end, just for a glimpse of one of the heroes. Just to say their thanks and how much they appreciated them. But now, they were forced to hide. To sneak around like vermin. To stick to the shadows and let their presents go unnoticed. Everything they did was for the safety of all living creatures, both humans and robots. But society now only sees them as nothing more than terrorists.

As she reached the dark back alley of the building she let out a long, shuddering sigh. She reached a shaking hand towards her face and tried to wipe away the mascara that stained her freckled cheeks. But only succeeded in spreading it across her face and on her glove, she was a sight to say the least. Her now tinted glove lifted up a rusted hatch that lived next to a large metal door, its reinforced steel keeping anything unpleasant from entering. Her nimble fingers found their way towards the glowing key-pad, the worn out keys shimmering with emerald light. Her fingertips acted on instinct, automatically pushing in the code without a second thought. .0.0.2. A small hiss of steam escaped in between the bricks that outlined the thick steel door. Bright blue light bleed through the crack in the bricks, the light moved gently over her face and down her neck. And as suddenly as it occurred the stunning light disappeared. The reassuring sound of the hydraulics inside the enormous door filled her ears. Not waiting for it to open completely she blinked inside and immediately wandered towards the winding marble staircase. Her gloved hand stroking the many different, and unique vehicles as she glided past. Usually she would jump into her favourite car and turn on the radio, letting the beat wash away any trouble the day carried. But today was different…and no amount of music could sooth the pain she felt in her heart.

The loud clank of the doors heavy locks sliding back into place rang out behind her, as she started her was up the gleaming stairs. Its brilliant white rock stepped on by soggy boots, leaving wet, dirty marks upon its surface. The second floor was completely turned into a medical bay. Mercy's equipment laid out in perfect order. It was entirely covered with stainless tiles, from floor to ceiling. Luckily, Mercy wasn't currently in the room. Lena let out a sigh of relief, she didn't want her bad mood to bring down the doctor. She continued up the stairs and reached the third floor, this room was taken over by Reinhardt, Torbjorn and . The two large suits hooked up by supports and resting in both corners. While Torbjorn's signature turrets were scattered amongst the floor and his workbench. Nowhere near as organized as the Mercy's workspace, which was expected, as she was a complete neat freak.

Tracer turned back towards the marble stairs, nothing going through her mind, except for the comfy image of her queen sized bed. Its warm covers and supportive frame, begging her to comply. She didn't need any other invitation as she chose to blink the rest of the way, she also thought this would make it less likely for her friends to bombard her with questions. The blue streamline of light emitted zipped up the stairs, the blurred images of each layer of the building passing in the corners of her hazel eyes. The sound of wet boots sliding across the clean floor signalled her halt. She stood in front of the tinted glass doors, which separated her from inside the main living quarters. The last two floors of their HQ was configured to accommodate for everyone's needs. The ceiling was high enough for Reinhardt even when he was inside his monstrous armour. It had over twenty rooms all fitted with queen sized beds. A large communal washroom fitted with ten showers and five sink basins. An enormous kitchen was located on the nineteenth flour, though only Torbjorn really did any actually cooking. And last but not least a sitting area were a massive leather couch took up most of the space, pointed directly at a flat screen TV, described in Lucio's words as 'a bloody beast'.

Lena's soft steps slowly approached the doors which opened with a quiet whoosh. To her distain, the sound of voices could be heard towards the back of the building. All she wanted was to be along with her thoughts, just too fully come to terms with the situation that she was currently in. Unfortunately the only way to her quarters was to pass the room in which her friends were located. Even with the use of her blink she was sure they would be able to see or even hear her. Several tense seconds passed as she considered her options. But, in the end, Tracer's patience and urge to get out of her tight orange pants, forced her hand. In a blink of brilliant light, she crossed the distance of the doorway, blinking the rest of the way towards her room. Unluckily, her action didn't go unnoticed to the eyes and ears of Mercy and Winston. Both in which gave concerned glances to each other.

 **() TIME – 21:04PM ()**

"I'm not going in there, you're a girl, you know how this works. I'll… I'll probably make it worse." Winston stood outside Tracers room with Mercy, trying to get her to talk with their troubled team member. His large hairy hands stroking his soft stripped pyjamas as he shot mercy a half-hearted smile.

Mercy gave Winston a sour look before gliding towards the glass door and knocked three times. Her Valkyrie armour had been stripped from her body, only wearing the tight latex she normally wore underneath. She waited a few seconds before speaking. "Please, honey. Can I come in? You can tell me anything."

They heard a faint sob from the other side of the door and a small voice said. "I-I-I'm alright guys, really. I just need a bit of time to *Sniff* to think *Sniff* to think things over."

The last part of the sentence was barely audible as she was basically crying. Mercy looked back at Winston with a look of sadness, they had never seen Tracer this miserable and distant.

Mercy sighed, "alright sweet heart, but if you change your mind you know where to find us."

And with that Winston and Mercy walked down the brightly lit corridor to join with the others.

 **() IN ANOTHER PART OF THE CITY ()**

 **() TIME – 21:04PM ()**

His large, muscular body hidden by his bellowing cloak, its dark fabric filled with holes and scorch marks. Each a reminder of a different mission, a different kill, but the same adrenaline, the same rush. The heavy hood resting on his shoulders, revealing his rough facial features. His amber eyes seemed to burn with unseen anger, a long jagged scar ran down his face. From the tip of his eyebrow, running over his eye lid and ending at the corner of his grinning mouth, nothing but another memory. Short grey hair grew from the top of his head, and spread down towards his jaw, forming a neat beard. He was in his late-fifty's but was just as dangerous as he used to be. Sitting in front of him was a woman that used to go by the name of Amélie Lacroix. A woman whose sole assignment was to hunt down and assassinate any agent that went under the name Overwatch. Her slender build making it easy for her to get places others couldn't, to do missions that were meant to be impossible. She was a killer. The moon which shone through the open window, making her purple skin seem to glow with intensity. Her topaz eyes ablaze with anticipation, her mission had been a success. The Omnic Leader known as Mondatta had been killed, with a shot that could only be described as impossible. The news of his death spread across the world like a wild fire, throwing it into anarchy.

His clawed gauntlets twitching with delight as he eyes up his young apprentice. After Talon successfully brainwashed Amélie, she was turned over to him. It was his duty to transform her into the unique killing machine that she was today.

Several minutes passed without either one saying a word, the intense silence only disturbed by the constant sound of the street.

The man reached behind his back and pulled a cream coloured folder out from one of his deep pockets. His eyes never leaving his apprentices stunning golden orbs. He slid the document across the table towards her awaiting hands. Without saying a word she picked it up and started reading her next assignment. He watched with pleasure as one of her eyebrows rose as she continued to read the file. Looking up from the piece of paper and stared at the man she had come to know as master. Confusion and curiosity flashing behind her eyes as she spoke. "…you vill' be accompanying me? As vell' as Reaper?" her words laced with her think accent.

The smile never left the man's lips, the tendons in his jaw tightened as he replied. "This mission is Talons number one priority, there can be no room for mistakes." His deep voice sent chills down her spine. "If we fuck this up, it will mean all our heads… also… twenty Talon agents will be added, it just came in from HQ."

The assassin nodded with agreement, she knew this mission's success was the turning point for Talon. If this mission went as planned they would be praised. Her master was already known though. He had a reputation for having over five hundred confirmed kills, this wasn't definite, but no one would question his word. He was also one of the most known assassins in the world. "Is Reaper already aware of the situation?" Her question hung in the air for a moment before he answered. His constant twitching made her feel unnerved.

"He is aware, and he understands the risks. But I have confidence" He got up from the wooden chair and slowly paced the dimly lit room. The wooden floorboards creaked under his metal feet, his cape brushing gently across the floor. "Reaper is inbound, he should be here in several minutes. Do you have the necessary equipment?"

She didn't verbally respond, but instead nodded as she continued to read the file between her purple fingers.

"Good, we will strike them where they live. We shall attack at twenty three hundred sharp." His eyes glowing like hot coal, the excitement making his back muscles tighten. A devilish grin spreading across his scarred lips. "And we will watch. Them. Burn…"

 **() OVERWATCH HEADQUARTERS ()**

 **() TIME – 2250 ()**

 **() Agents Currently At Overwatch HQ – Tracer, Mercy, Winston, Zarya, Genji, Hanzo, Reinhardt, Torbjorn, Lucio, Mei, , Pharah, Symmetra. ()**

"I've been friends with Lena for a long time, and I have never, EVER, seen her act like this. It just isn't her. She's seen people die before, good people. And she's shrugged it off. This time thought, it…it just doesn't make any sense. Why won't she talk it out" Mercy sighed with frustration. All she wanted was Tracer to be back to her old cheerful self. Not this dreary shell of what she used to be.

Genji, Hanzo, Winston, Mercy and Symmetra all sat in the HQ's coffee lounge, trying to figure out what to do for their distressed friend. And for the past hour they figured out, they had no ideas. Symmetra was about to open her mouth when they heard the loud and distinctive sound of Reinhardt's feet, along the corridor's floor. When he walked into the room he stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the small gathering. "SO. I'm not invited to the late night tea party, AM I. sureeee use me as a shield when you want, but no tea party for you, Reinhardt." He walked louder than he talked over to the coffee pot and pored himself a mug. His white hair sticking up in several places. He was wearing black sweatpants with large white shirt covering his chest "Why are you even drinking coffee at this hour anyway? Just LOOK at the time. Almost eleven o'clock. That is TOO late for coffee." Reinhardt was about to sit down next to Genji when Winston spoke. "Lena is feeling, well… she isn't herself. She's feeling down and has been crying in her room for hours on end. And she wo-." He didn't get to finish his sentence as Reinhardt threw his mug in the air, spilling its black contents everywhere, staining the red leather of the couch. "AND YOU ARE ALL SITTING OUT HERE LIKE DEAD DUCKS! NO NO NO NO NO, this will NOT DO. I'm going to get her and we will all talk like adults." And with that Reinhardt almost ran towards Tracers room, not hearing Mercy's waning that she doesn't want to be disturbed.

Genji looked at everyone and said, "You know, I sometimes question his intelligence. Each and every one of us has been given the same answer by Lena, what makes him so special. His old age he has made him even more stubborn?"

Hanzo chuckled at his brothers response, "agreed, but don't worry soon we will have another member of the so called 'late night tea party', and then maybe we can figure this out." The archer held his cup within both of his hands, its warmth seeming into his pores.

The familiar sound of Reinhardt's feet echoing down the halls filled their ears again. As he made his way out of the faded corridor he stopped and stared at everyone, a smile spreading from both of his ears. He stepped aside and there stood tracer. The group of people all shot Reinhardt filthy looks, except for Hanzo who placed his cup onto the table in front of him and threw his hands in the air. He stood up and walked to the coffee pot, saying stuff about needing more caffeine for this bullshit.

The group's reactions were of course, understandable. As everyone that was sitting in that room had tried and failed to talk to Tracer, and for many hours to. Yet it only took Reinhardt a few seconds to not only get her to talk to him, but to get her to come with him. And Reinhardt's smug smile was just the icing on the cake.

While Lena had been absent she had wiped most the black mascara off of her pale skin. Her hair had been fixed and was back to its normal look. Her usual deep hazel eyes were bloodstained, and glassy. Her normal tight orange pants had been replaced with black pyjamas, as well her jacket had been cast aside and in its place was a white t-shirt. Her chronal accelerator in its normal place upon her chest The group's reaction made Tracer uncomfortable, she usually loved being the centre of attention, but this made her feel worse. Lena hands started to fidget, unsure on what was happening. All she wanted to do was crawl back into her bed and never come out. As if she could read her mind, Mercy stood up from the couch and pulled Lena into a tight hug. The worth she felt from Mercy was comforting. After a few moments they broke there embrace and sat on the red leather couch as all eyes fell on Tracer. The petit British girl didn't know where to begin, she had kept her friend up because she acted like a two year old. Mercy stroked her hair giving her the courage to speak. "…Um, sorry about all this luv's. I...I didn't realise you all were up because of lil old me. But you all deserve to know." Lena looked at everyone, completely touched that they all really did care about her, but also felt guilt at what she had done to her friends.

Winston spoke up, "Lena, we all have been in the same position. And we all understand how you feel. Mondatta's death is a tragedy, but… life must go on."

Mercy stared at Winston, trying to understand how this was meant to help their friend. Tracer looked like she was struggling to find words, her face was twisted in an abnormal impression. "I…I know, its…it's just…I could have stopped it. I could have saved his life. But… I chose to. I blinked out of the way, and that caused the bullet to hit Mondatta." Fat tears fell down Lena's face, running down her freckled cheeks and down to her chin. "I…I…I could….I could have saved his bloody life." Tracer threw her hands to her face as she cried into them, her small body shuddering with each breath. Mercy wrapped her hands around the small girl again, letting the tears fall on her shoulder. Lena buried her head into the blonde's neck, letting her gentleness sooth the pain away. The rest of the group didn't know what to do. Symmetra placed her prosthetic hand onto her spine, softly rubbing her back. It's cool metal wasn't exactly soothing to Tracer, but it was the thought that counted. Hanzo, Genji and Winston sat on the large couch, unfamiliar for this type of situation. Reinhardt on the other hand looked like he was about to break something, his face was scrunched up in anger. His large muscles tensing making him look even more intimidating.

After a few minutes, Hanzo was the one that broke the dreary silence. "Lena…" Tracer slowly looked up into Hanzo's tired eyes. "We _will_ make her pay for this, she will be brought to justice." His face wore a small smile.

"Come on guys, I think we _all_ need some sleep. I mean it is eleven o'clock. If you want we can continue this in the morning…." Genji stopped and looked directly at his poor friend, he gently cleared his robotic throat and spoke. "Ah Lena, I believe it would help if Jake was here. He can help you through this…he is you boyfriend after all." Genji waited for Tracers response. But it never came. All of their attention was drawn to a sound behind their large flat screen TV, which was mounted on the wall. Reinhardt walked over to it and looked behind the large screen. He turned around to Winston and shrugged. The Large Gorilla looked curiously at the growing sound, he brought up his tablet and said one word. "ATHENA" nothing happened. Winston looked confused, he said her name again. Silence. Then it hit him. "Security's down…SECURITY'S DOWN!" Everyone realised what this meant, but it was already too late, as the wall which Reinhardt was standing in front of. Exploded into flames.

 **() Five Minutes Before Hand ()**

Her liquid yellow eyes bored through her snipers scope, and into the bright blue light of the Chronal accelerator, she longed to fire and rid of the person that caused her so much trouble, her irritating laughter and her childish behaviour. But she knew that it would be the end of her. This mission was far too important to let her desires get the better of her. The Widowmaker was positioned 200 metres away from Overwatch's Headquarters, she was dressed in her usually attire. The freezing cold would probably cause great displeasure to any other woman, but since she had been genetically modified, the coolness of the concrete on her stomach and the bite of the wind was quite pleasant. The only sound that filled her ears was the annoying clicking of the Talon agent next to her. It was painfully obvious that he was trying to stay fixated on his laptop, but his body language was betraying him. Sweat was dripping down his face, even thought it was beyond cold. He also kept fidgeting with the gun that was slung around his shoulder. This man's only job was to disarm the security system and shut down the power, which seemed to be causing him some trouble.

His eyes wandered up again and looked into the blank stare of the woman in front of him. He froze not sure what to do. A shiver ran up his spine as she gave him a smile, it wasn't a normal smile thought, but a smile that seemed to fill him with terror. It was shallow and seemed to highlight her deep piercing eyes, revealing the evil that lurked within her mind. His quickly looked away hoping that she would do the same. But no, she kept staring. As if she was trying to see into his soul. Then, to his displeasure, she spoke. "Ave' you ever killed a man." Her words were dripping in that seductive French accent. "Vhat' did you feel…. Ven you stole zere' life."

The man who was barely over 20, tried desperately to keep his eyes fixed on the assassin, which amused her terribly. "Y-y-yess, mama. I-I-I have taken a life before-"He stopped as the woman before him slowly stood up and brushed her cold violet hands along his cheek. The slender killer leaned in so that her blue lips were barely a hairs breath away from the mans. "Ven' vhat' did you feel." Her breath was surprisingly cool against his lips as he shuddered out his reply.

"It…. It felt invigorating" her mouth turned into an amused smile, as she rested her lips on the man's ear and said "good." As she pulled away she popped a small kiss onto his right cheek.

The man found it easier to look this assassin in her golden eyes, until she spoke again. "Now hurry zat' up….Before I slit your throat." She wasn't given the pleasure of seeing the man's reaction in full affect, as the man only known a Reaper appeared out of a whirlwind of black smoke. He turned his mask towards her and snarled "What are you playing at? Do you think this is a game?" The embodiment of death strode towards the slim assassin. Her face becoming emotionless again as she asked, "Have ze' explosives been set?"

The clocked figure rasped out his response. "Yes. They are set for eleven exactly. What. About. You? " The skull mask turned into the direction of the scared Talon agent, the eye sockets seemed to glow crimson. "….Um uhh well. Yes sir, the security and power are ready to be um. Shut down. Tell me when and ill disable em."

The harbourer of death didn't say anything to the man, but turned to the underdressed woman before him. "Remember the plan, only if you want to choose death. Only limb shots, we don't want them to die….yet. Talon has plans for them, very…unpleasant ones"

The Widowmaker smiled, but her eyes showed the rage she kept locked inside. "Don't vorry' I don't miss….is za' big shot is position."

Reaper drew a ragged breath. "You know, he would kill you if he heard you say that." He turned around from the annoying woman back towards the young Talon agent. "Disable the security, as soon as the explosions go off… kill the power." The clocked figure pulled out both of his shotguns as the agent started to tap furiously at his keyboard.

"….any second" Reaper said this more to himself then his other two companions. The Widowmaker, with much delight, watched through her scope as Reinhardt walked towards the TV. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Reaper start to disappear into a dark cloud of mist. And she could have sworn he said 'boom' just as the explosive went off.


	2. Killer Of Killers

**() Overwatch – Shattered, But Whole () CHAPTER TWO**

 **() Overwatch Headquarters ()**

A second detonation shocked Tracer from her slumber, the dust from the explosion burned the back of her throat. The sensation felt as if she had swallowed a handful of razor blades, the smell of chemicals lingered in the air. Her small helpless body had been flung across the room and into the industrial sized refrigerator, every inch of her body felt like it was ablaze. The shrill cries of pain and despair went unnoticed by the small British girl, no sound was able to be hear over the ringing that echoed inside her ears. The taste of blood overwhelming her senses, her hazel eyes flew open as she was thrown into a coughing fit. The dark crimson liquid pattering down her face and chin, the pain which erupted from her chest forced her body to go ridged. Liquid brown eyes staring into the darkness, nothing but dust filled the air. The room had been destroyed, the once red couch was blown completely in half, flames licking at the leather. Her friends were nowhere to be seen, all their belongings had been littered around the now dark room. Most of them were scorched or still burning. Her eyes drew to the pain in her chest, the Chronal Accelerator's once bright blue light was dully flickering. A large jagged piece of metal half buried in the machinery that anchored her in time, and the other half sunken painfully into her chest, blood flowing freely from the wound.

Every move she tried, every effort she made to shift her weight, send pain thundering towards her brain. Her body was littered with cuts and gashes, blood staining the clothes that stuck to her skin. As the ringing started to die down, another sound filled her ears. A loud, pitiful, high pitched shrieking seemed to be emitting from the tight fitting harness strapped to her chest. Fear spread across her mind, clouding her vision and her mind. Thoughts screamed through her mind, 'I can't go back'. 'I won't go back'. 'I would rather die' these thoughts repeated themselves until they were a blur. Tears streamed down her face at the thought of being along again, of being nothing more than a ghost. She was so deep in thought that she was unaware of the heavy footsteps that made their way in her direction. The crunch of glass under his metal feet, the piercing red eyes, and the smirk that was hidden behind his mask headed towards her.

She was quickly and suddenly thrown out of her trance, when a strong gloved hand clasped around her neck. She let out a small yelp as he hurled her bloodied body from the ground. She was slammed hard against the fridges stainless steel doors, crimson liquid dripping against the cool metal. The sudden movement caused the debris to sink further into Lena's skin. She let out a loud whimper which only made the man tighten his grip on her fragile neck. Her hands draped down the side of her body, blood lose was already affecting her physical state, the pain nearly caused her to black out. She was unable to fight back, unable to speak, unable to even move as he slowly lifted her body so that her feet were left dangling. His masked face edged closer to hers, a small whistle of air was released from his mouth plate. A wicked chuckle escaped his lips as he raised a large handgun towards her head. The barrel rested sharply against the side of her head, his laughter only stopped when he spoke. "Well, well, well. Isn't this something. You know you have caused us a fucking lot of trouble. Such a small little girl, I wish I could make this slower…" he paused his speech as a wave of laughter sept from his mask. His sidearm slapped against his thigh as he tightened his grip even more. Tracers breaths were becoming more ragged, blood still trickling down her chin as pain in her chest grew worse. "Well, nighty night…see you in hell bitch." His voice rasping against the inside of his mask.

Lena closed her tear streaked eyes as the man raised the barrel of his gun towards her head, she never thought she would die like this. Cowering, unable to fight back, not being able to stop the inevitable. People always told her that just before you died, your whole life flashes before your eyes. That you see the most memorial moments in your life. But. All she could see was the inside of her eyelids, all she could hear was the wine of her Chronal Accelerator, and all she could feel was the searing pain in her chest. 'This is how I die'

A few moments past, and it hadn't come. The agonizing pain of a bullet and the death that would soon follow. It didn't come. Was he teaser her? Giving her false hope? Just so he could see her eyes as he pulled the trigger. Lena inhaled deeply as she felt his iron grip loosen around her neck, her feet feeling the comforting sensation of solid ground. A metal hand no longer wrapped around her neck, she was about to take a peak when a loud thump caused her to jump with fright. Minutes passed and nothing had happened. Tracer teasingly opened one of her hazel eyes, to find that the man was no longer standing before her. Instead he was sprawled onto the tiled floor, the blood that used to pump through his veins flowing from his slit throat.

Both of her eyes were now wide open, staring at the dead Talon solder in front of her. The man that had held her life in his hands, lying in his own blood. Her arms started to shake violently, the thought of her body being in his place caused a chill to run up her spine. She didn't care why or who had killed the Talon agent, she was just happy it wasn't herself. Glass crunched under her nervous steps, each one bringing further realisation of the mess they were in. All the lights seemed to be blown out, the emergency evacuation alarms were blazing. Spilling their red light into the gloomy corridor she stood in. Her bruised face and neck briefly shining red, the pain of moving showing clear as day, then as quickly as it came it was being consumed back into the dark. Her legs moving freely from her mind, so far she hadn't seen any trace of her friends.

Nothing made sense, the place was empty. There was nothing but the chocking fumes caused by the explosion, her friends, her partners, her teammates, they wouldn't leave her behind. Would they? Her steps stopped abruptly as another body lied in front of her, a large blade sticking from its chest. She walked as fast as she was able, the pain coursing through her veins making her more unsteady on her feet. She hoped it was another Talon agent, not being able to bear sight to one of her pals being gutted like this. As she got closer a sigh of relief passed through her cut lips, it was indeed a Talon agent. 'But…but why was he like this… Wasn't it them attacking us…this blade doesn't belong to anyone of us…' the dagger sticking in the soldiers chest was made form a slender white metal, stained with his blood. Its dual blade twisting on itself as it dug into flesh and muscle. The amount of liquid pouring out of his body caused her to gag, only making her cough up more her own blood.

She looked away from the lifeless soldier and started walking down the glass coated corridor. She placed one of hands underneath her armpits to keep them from shaking, as the other pressed firmly against the wound in her chest. She wanted to crawl away, to leave this dreary place and go back to her comfy bed. To snuggle up against her life-sized panda, to smell its comforting strawberry scent, with her face buried in its soft fur. Those where good times, when life was less complicated and the only worry was when to was the large bear. But…right now she needed to get her head out of the clouds and focus. She needed to find her friends.

She made her way into another passage, this one seemed to have been spared from the explosion. It was located at the far side of the building and its side was completely made from glass, which surprisingly was still intact. Tracer paused as she reached the middle of the hall, something felt strange. The sensation of butterflies filled her stomach, her gaze lingered down towards the darkness in which she had come from. Lena squinted her eyes in an attempt to see clearer, and to her shock she found a pair of eyes staring back…

Her mind froze in fear, someone was watching her. She slowly started to walk backwards, her eyes never leaving the amber ones located within the back void. A devilish, sneering laughter came forth from the blackness, its footsteps echoing within the confined space. His features came into view as he made his way towards her.

A tight cry leaped from her mouth, small ragged breaths were drawn through her clenched teeth. His black cape slowly brushed against the floor and he twirled a black dagger between his fingers. His hood was drawn back so his face was able to be seen, his white hair glossy with sweat. A long scar trailed down his face, starting from his eyebrow down to the corner of his mouth. His amber eyes looked like burning coals, as a smile crept from cut lips.

Her steps became quicker as she recognised him, she knew who this man was. She had only seen glimpses of him during battles or even in the occasional field reports. He was a legend within his profession, he was a myth and one of the most wanted men in the world. This man just so happened to be standing in front of her, his eyes boring into her soul. "Hello little bunny….are you scared…?" his smile growing with each word he said, his voice sounding like rough sandpaper "…well… You. Should. Be"

The barrel of her rifle aimed at the young British girls temple, her visor fallen over those topaz eyes. Her facial feature didn't change as she saw her Master emerging from the end of the corridor. His intimidating stance causing the helpless girl to take several steps backwards. Soon her life would be nothing but an annoying memory, soon **all** of Overwatch will be nothing but a bad thought. This image caused a sinister smile to craw over her purple lips. The gentle thump of her pulse keeping her in a constant rhythm. Frustratingly the agent behind her was still taping at his keyboard, all she wanted was to smash his head in with the damn thing.

She watched with an intense glare as her Master sprung onto the brat, his metal gauntlet thrown around her neck. His crushing grip causing all air to be cut off from her lungs, her head smacking against the hard wall. Small, pitiful hands clawed at the iron grip around her neck, trying desperately to free herself. The purple assassin soaked in all the details, the way her legs twitched with desperation, they her eyes seemed to plead for mercy, and the silence. Her ears shifted with delight at the sweet sound of peace, the Talon agent finally stopped that cursed noise.

"Enfin…I 'zought you would never stop" her sweet French accent the only sound breaking her delightful tranquillity. Her gaze switched from her snipers scope towards the direction of the young agent. But…he wasn't there. Her face twisted into confusion, 'zere is no way he could get up so quietly…could he?' her visor flipped back towards her hairline, revealing her probing eyes. His gear was in the same position as it used to be, but he was nowhere to be found. A small trail of red liquid caught her eye, slowly seeping from a concrete platform behind her. Its slow descend causing her pulse to quicken slightly, its metallic tang confirming it was indeed blood. Her legs acted like pistons, springing onto the balls of her feet. Her senses at full alert, as her sniper configuring into is automatic state, pointing in the direction of the bodily fluid. Her tense steps clicking against the gravel, long black hair whipping around her waist.

The grapple sliced through the air and struck the rock with a satisfying thump. With a flick of her wrist her body was launched into the air, landing catlike onto the concrete slab. She raised a thin eyebrow at the dead agent, a white unique looking dagger impaled him in his chest. Blood leaking from his slit throat, causing the trail that alerted her. The seven red eyes of her visor fell over her own, its infer-red sight penetrating for any heat signatures. Why would the assailant only kill the Talon agent and leave her be? How could anyone be that quite? The hair on the back of her neck stood straight upright, this uncertainty…this insecurity was unfamiliar to her.

The black nylon of her leggings connected with the ground as she knelt, examining the architecture of the blade. The visor hadn't picked up any other soul, but her senses still focused on any movement or sound. Her slim fingers traced the sharpness of the blade as her other hand held fast to her rifle. The young man's face still seized a look of shock, terror filled his dark green eyes. It bewildered the slender assassin, how could anyone kill another person so quickly and without making a single peep. "Hm" this would have to wait, she was missing that brat Tracer being tortured. Her slender figure stood at its full height, the slight curve of her spine caused it to shimmer under the moonlight. But before she could turn back to the spectacle, she felt a strong hand grip the stump of her ponytail. Her thin legs were kicked out from under her, by hard white Kevlar boots. The hand forced her head downwards, she watched shocked as the ground came to greet her face. Roughly crushed into the gravel, her nose breaking under the pressure. Before she could recuperate, her hair was yanked back upwards. Blood streaming from her damaged nose, as the man forced the top half of her body off of the ground.

With a hard kick to the back of her spine she was sent barrelling back towards the gravel. Her skull connecting on the rocks with a sickening crack. Crimson liquid spilled from several head wounds, her vision clouding over as her consciousness was whipped away. His boots barely made any noise as he strode past the wounded assassin, and towards his previous kill. As quick as a flash he tore the white blade from the dead solders chest, making a grating sound as it scrapped against bone. The dagger was placed next to its twin, which also happened to be covered in bodily fluid. A blood spotted glove glided towards his hidden ear, pressing the receiver that was tucked snuggly inside. The hood which shielded his face was shrouded in darkness as he spoke. "All unexpected hostiles have been eliminated. Proceed as planned." His voice sounded robotic due to a voice changer under his tongue. His gaze staring at the building in front of him, his eyes glowed like blue fire. Adrenaline thumped through his veins as he walked over to the edge of the building, tucking his arms across his chest as a smile snuck across his lips. The smack of his pulse against his temple compelled him as he jumped.

My lungs screamed for air, cried for the sweet taste of oxygen, but the hand around my throat didn't let up. His face still bore that wicked smile as mine started to turn purple, as the small cries of pain that wheezed from my suffocating form. My hands had given up hope trying to pry his gauntlet form my windpipe, my legs pushed against his torso with little to no result. He was chocking the life out of me and there was nothing I could do. A tear rolled down my freckled cheek as I stared into the murderous gaze of the man, his amber eyes filled with no mercy or remorse.

The large man heard heavy footsteps from the end of the corridor, his eye never leaving the purple face brit. "Almost missed the show Reaper." His voice was rough and filled with determination. He turned his head to look at his fellow assassin, and to his surprise it wasn't the incarnation of death. Instead it was a man with grey hair, only a few years older than himself. He held no weapon, but approached him with an attitude of self-assurance. The skin that wrapped around his chin was burned and covered in multiple scars. "So…this is what has become of you." The man's pale blue eye soaking in the spectacle in front of him, his irregular voice rung out once again. "You had such hope…so much talent, and you wasted it."

The man which held tracer by the throat seemed to be shocked, he stared at the new man with a stunned expression. In his confusion the grip loosened around her neck. The sweet crispness of air flooded into her lungs, as several trembling breaths slowly make her face turn back into its natural complexion.

The two men were locked in a forceful staring match, their vision never wavering form each other's eyes. The man which still held the small British girl had his mouth hanging open, unable to piece together the exact words. "Y-Your supposed to be dead…I-I killed you…YOUR SUPPOSED TO BE FUCKING DEAD!" His voice roared at the older man in front of him, his grip tightened around the black dagger in his other hand. The man's outburst only caused a chuckle to come from the other male, he still didn't seem to mind that he was completely exposed to the man's fury.

"A master always has a few tricks over there apprentice, sadly you still have your little temper tantrums. Don't you Charles." The older man still let out a small snicker, but his words hit there mark. The supposed Charles eye burned with rage, his anger caused him to lash out at the nearest object to him. Which unfortunately was the helpless Brit, his dagger moved with quick succession. The tip of the blade connected with her unprotected stomach with such force it caused her to shift several feet. It pierced through her skin and into muscle, erupting from her back in a cloud of blood.

As if she was a sack of meat he tossed her motionless body towards the ground, his voice already roaring at the man that stood in front of him. "I'VE KILLED YOU BEFORE…I CAN DO IT AGAIN…YOUR NOTHING BUT AN OLD MAN!" The glass that littered the floor seemed to jump with the violence in his voice.

Another chuckle grated from his lips, he watched with interest as a whirlwind of dark bellowing smoke appeared next to the furious man. A rasping laugh seemed to be accompanied with the spectacle. As quickly as it came, a man covered from head to toe in a black cloak, a skull mask sneering at the older man.

His old apprentice turned towards his new advantage then back at him, he let out a forced laugh as he spoke. "NOW…HOW CAN AN OLD MAN LIKE YOU DEFEAT TWO TRAINED ASSASSINS?!" his face was scrunched up in an overconfident manner that placed a smile on the grey haired man. His pale blue eyes stared into burning amber orbs as he snarled. "I do prefer the term experienced. But…you're right. I won't kill you both." A wicked grin flashed across his face and he continued. "But they will…"

I chewed nervously at the side of my mouth, my father's words seemed to rattle my target. Deep blue eyes focusing on the back of his head, small droplets of sweat were visibly running down the back of his neck. The man seemed to finally break as he lashed out on the unfortunate girl in his hands, his dagger plunged into her stomach sending a flurry of blood through the air. In another time this might have bothered me, might have made me angry or sad. But that version of me died years ago, and in its place was this cold hearted monster, designed and manipulated to be the perfect killing machine. But still, nothing would give me more pleasure than to ride the world of his kind, but it wasn't the right time. My eyes wandered to the beaten girl on the floor, the sensors in my eyes indicated that there was still indeed a faint heartbeat. This surprised me, she seemed to have already taken a lot of trauma…what was keeping her alive?

My train of thought was broken as the rage was audible in the man's voice, his screaming voice directed at my father, spit flying from his mouth like shrapnel. Just on que the man known as Reaper twisted into view, his intimidating form having no effect on the man in front of them. Waiting…waiting… My eyes closed in anticipation, the blood hammered in my mind…waiting…waiting…

I won't kill you both." The bright blue glow of my eyes shone from the darkness, looking at the other end of the corridor into the familiar glow of purple orbs staring back. My hands grasped around the handles of my dual blades, the white leather that wrapped my body creaked as I tensed. "But they will…"

My father took long powerful strides backwards, until his body was lost in the darkness. The angry man was left with a confused expression slapped across his face, but his body didn't move from its forceful stance. I watched with great pleasure as his frame suddenly went rigid, his gaze finally noticed the glowing purple eyes aimed directly at him. They grew larger as the man made loud steps towards the so-called Charles. His body came into view, the black cloak bellowing behind him as two identical blades were placed in both of his hands. A smile was visible under his hood, as his glowing eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement. When he was only a few metres away from their target, he stopped, waiting for something. The man looked at Reaper, sweat dripping from his brow, he quickly raised a hand towards his ear and pressed a button. "Widowmaker, take him out…" He waited a few moments but seemed to become more nervous as no reply greeted him. "Widowmaker…come in."

A chuckle was the only response that answered his request, and it was from the man standing barely three metres in front of him. "Sorry, but Widow-Bitch won't be joining us tonight. But you really shouldn't worry… were you're going mate, you will be seeing her real soon." As he spoke his blades danced in his hands, making large circular motions, his cocky smile never wavering.

"Kill him." The worried man's command was directed at the incarnation of death. And without hesitation the deathly figure reached into his black clock drawing out his twin shotguns. The flurry of shells flew towards the purpled eyed man with deadly force. But they never hit their mark, the man's blades moved with incredible speed. Each blow was countered by the man's absurd reflexes, the bullets rebounding of the glossy metal and into the surrounding walls. My partner took small steps backwards as the death angle started to advance towards him, throwing his empty guns onto the floor just to reach back into his clock to pull out two more. Soon both of the men were over ten metres away from the shocked figure, left standing completely dazed and alone. Except for the bashed girl who was barely conscious, she had somehow managed to push her spine up against the wall. Her face had become pale form the amount of blood that had already left her veins, hazel eyes lazily watching the man in front of her. But she wasn't my concern.

This was it, this was my moment I have been waiting for. His back was turned to me, weapons left dangling in his relaxed palms. My eyes lit up to their full brightness, spilling their blue fire onto the glass coated floor. My mechanical leg hummed as the robotic muscles tightened. I gripped my weapons as the power hidden within my legs caused me to explode down the hall with tremendous speed. The nearby walls flying by in nothing more than a blur, the pain and suffering caused by this man would soon be nothing more than a memory. My footsteps rung inside the small corridor, gaining the attention of my target. His body swivelled on the balls of his feet but he wasn't quick enough. My body was already sliding between his moving legs, glass cutting into my elbows as I glided across the floor. The sharpness of my blades cut into the man's shins, leaving two deep cuts in his skin and bone. As quickly as I had gone in, I was back on my feet. A howl of pain left the man's lips as he tried to recover from the malicious assault. His head turned towards his attacker only for him to feel the bit of my steel blade against his cheek. The metal collided against his teeth with a repulsive crack as fragments of blood and bone soared from his mouth. I stood back as his body fell to the ground, his gloved hands desperately trying to stop the crimson liquid from flowing from his body.

The fight didn't go unnoticed by the embodiment of death as his attention was drawn to the wail of pain. The Reaper quickly released another round at the man he was desperately trying to kill, but with no effect, other than the walls being filled with more holes. He swiftly turned around so he could try to save the man he was assigned to protect, but he could sense those purple eyes following him. He could feel the breeze of his breath against the back of hood, and the vibration of his feet connecting with the floor. He stole a glance to his side only to find a fist hurdling towards him, it struck the Reaper in the centre of his skull mask with enough force to crack it. His body vaulted towards the widow with the power of the blow. He had no time to recollect himself as a purple blade plunged into his shoulder, the tip splintering the white tiles beneath him. The Reaper didn't feel the pain, the agony that surely would have paralysed him. All he felt was the rage that burned at his core, the burning hatred for being wounded at the hands of this man. He wanted to turn around and tear this man apart, even with his bare hands if he had to. But the blade protruding from his shoulder pivoted him in his position, the man's strong grip caused the blade to sink further into the floor. With a sudden twist for the sleek blade the skeleton mask drew closer towards the ground, as a rasped breath caught in his throat.

The weight that had ploughed the sword in his limb lessened, until there was no hand holding the hilt of the weapon. The man quickly found his footing and reached back into his cloak to pull out two fresh shotguns. His body turned swiftly towards the direction of the purpled eyes man, the blade still bulging from his shoulder. Unfortunately the death angel found him to late, the man had thrown his entire weight towards the adjacent wall. His legs catching himself and letting his powerful muscles push off the structure, the man's body exploded with tremens speed, hurdling towards the surprised Reaper. The man's foot connected with the skull mask, shattering it completely in half as his body was forced towards the glass wall. It broke under man's body as he collapsed, tumbling the terrifying journey towards the pavement. As his body fell he saw from the broken window…Two purple eyes glaring at him as his body slowly dissipated, into dark, billowing mist.

 **Tracer POV**

I watched the two men who stood in front of me, one was trying to stop the blood from flowing form his mouth, but the wound seemed to severe and just resulted in blood smearing across his face. He gave up his futile attempts and chose to face the other man who attacked him. This man was in full view with the light from the moon illuminating his body. He wore only white with two glowing orbs that seemed to consume his eyes. The frightening glint of his blood covered swords caught the other man's attention as he raised his own blades in defence.

I couldn't move, the pain had dulled down until I couldn't even feel it. My entire body felt numb and the tips of my fingers tingled as I sat against the wall. I didn't want to die, who wants to die? I would have cried but my body was too exhausted even to produce tears. All I could do was watch these two men fight and wait for the now sweet kiss of death. My eyes lifted up towards the man in white as the men stared at each over. I don't quite know why, but the deep blue seemed to drain my mind of thought, leaving it as a blank canvas.

 **Assassin POV**

Both of us didn't move, both waiting for the right moment. I wanted to savour this, to string it along. I wanted to witness the life drain from his fiery eyes. The confidence he had shown dissipated within an instant and was replaced with this bloodied embarrassment. 'Oh, this was going to feel good… I'm gonna… gonna… Why is she looking at me?' The British girl who was scarcely a few feet away from the man I was going to kill, was staring at me. Her Hazel eyes held no emotion, the only sign of life was her chest slowly rising then falling in an irregular pattern. 'How the fuck is she still alive?' I couldn't help but stare back, wondering what was going through her mind as she laid there dying. Unfortunately, this small distraction was enough for the other killer to pounce. His blades slicing into my stomach, tearing the white fabric and piercing my skin. Anger flooded my mind, 'how could I myself get distracted, you bloody idiot!' My blades quickly blocked the outburst of attacks, swiftly getting myself out of the mess I had fallen into. Sweat started to form on my brow as the man unleased another heavy attack. Each blow causing me to slide backwards a few feet, he continued to advance upon me until we had shifted several meters.

With quick succession I changed from defending to attacking. With each stroke I made, I cut a new wound into the injured man. The sudden change in tactics affected him severally. The gash on his head caused him to slow down and unable to block most of my blows. 'Enough games.' I spun on my heels and launched a round-house kick to the side of his skull. His balance was thrown to the side as I saw my chance. I leapt upon him as I grabbed a handful of his hair, trusting my sword into his chest. The blade pierced threw his skin, grated along bone, ruptured one of his lungs, until his body collided against the wall. As the sword exited through his back it impaled itself inside the solid wall. Blood exploded from his mouth as he tried to breath, unable to remove the sword he was forcefully anchored in his spot. I watched on with content as my partner walked over towards me, his footsteps were barely audible as he stood by my side. A smile was placed on both of our faces as the man's amber eyes seemed to fade, and the gargling of his breaths started to slow. I reached down towards my leg and upholstered a custom made desert eagle. The white metal flashed against the shimmering moon as I walked to the dying man. His face although was covered in blood still bore the look of complete shock, how could this person defeat him so easily. "Any last words" the robotic twang to my vocal cords no longer sounded as I wanted my real voice to be the last sound he heard. A gurgling sound fell from his mouth, which I believe to be him chocking on his own blood, but was actually laughter. "….fuck….you…" as the words left his mouth, my gun went off. Sending chunks of skull and brain fragments to splatter against the wall. The smile fell from my lips, I did want to see this man dead. He had consumed my life for nearly ten years, but still. I didn't want to see the inside of someone's head, especially as it slowly leaking from his shattered skull.

 **Tracer POV**

A shiver ran up my spine as I glanced away from the man, his body still attached to the wall. God it was awful, I had to look away. I'm not sure what's worse, having been along with the now deceased assassin, or the two men that had killed him. What were they going to do, oh god please just let the pain stop. I couldn't imaging it would hurt this much, it wasn't the physical torment, but the mental strain. I didn't want to go back, I didn't want to be alone again, I would rather die here on this cold, sticky floor, with no one to comfort me. Tears streaked down my face as my body started to spasm, oh god please help me… I don't want to die…

 **Assassin POV**

We had wrapped each other in a powerful hug, for too many years had this man screamed in our nightmares, tormented us when all we wanted was piece. But, finally, he couldn't hurt anyone else, his spilled blood will slowly wash away the aching that thrives in my heart. We broke our embrace and shared a joyful smile, my partner was about to congratulate me when he saw my smile droop. My eyes fixated on a sad sight, I watched as the small girl seemed to give up. Breaking down in a bundle of tears and shuddering. My friend followed my eyes until he too was looking at the sceptical.

I don't understand…how could she still be alive, she had to be in a tremendous amount of pain. Why didn't she just give up, let the pain guide her to a better place. Before I could ponder the question I felt a prang in my chest. Why did this hurt? Why do I seem to be transfixed on her? I don't know her, at least personally. But something deep down in my heart seemed to bleed, seemed to throb with sorrow and pity.

"What about the rest of them…the other Overwatch agents? Are they alive?" My friends question broke me out of my train of thought, almost startling me.

"Ye-yea, most of them were rendered unconscious, due to the explosions, the-they didn't have a chance." As I spoke a lump seemed to crawl its way up my throat, lodging itself in my vocal cords. My blue eyes didn't leave the wounded agent as my partner spoke again.

"We gotta go mate, she isn't our responsibility." His words hung in the air as I considered leaving her to her fate. But the feeling in my chest cemented my feet to the floor, keeping me locked in position.

"She's going to die…" I watched on as the girl continued to cry, as if she had already accepted her fate. It was quite sad actually, she was obviously too weak to even lift her hands up. So her tears just fell down her cheeks and ran down her neck, taking blood with it.

"Dude, you can't seriously be considering helping her, what do you think your father will do? Huh! He. Will. Kill. You… Literally. You mission was to fuck up this guy's shit, not to help some random who got themselves blown up!" His words were shouted in a whisper, so that only I could hear them.

I re-holstered my weapon as I replied "I can deal with my father. You just need to focus on your side of the mission, go get that weird purple assassin. I will deal with her."

He threw his hands towards the ceiling in defeat as he licking his dry lips, shooting me a filthy look he said. "Fine. But she better not fuck up our plan, or ill… ah fuck… it doesn't matter what I'll do, cause we both will be fucking dead…wont we." He turned on his heel and started to walk in the opposite direction, black cloak flowing out behind him as he called over his shoulder. "But you better make it quick."

I looked down again at the small British girl, who seemed to prick up at this last remark. I whispered softly under my breath as I approached her. "Don't worry, I will."

 **Tracer POV**

"Make it quick." My eyes grew wide as I heard this. 'Make what quick, what did I miss. I had been too distracted to see or hear the conviction that had just transpired in front of me. I saw as the man in black with the purple eyes marched away, leaving her alone with this mysterious man. My heart flew into my throat as he started taking heavy steps towards me. Oh god, here it comes, oh god. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the man pull out a weapon. I didn't want my brains be smeared across a wall. His feet stopped right in front of me, I could sense him staring at me, unsure on what was going to occur.

I wish they were with me. I wish this was all a dream… why does bad things always happen to good people, we try and try but were always accused of being, being bad. Why is it? I want to wake up, wake up. This can't be real, this can't be happening to us.

A soft, gentle, gloved hand brushed my blood clotted hair away from my closed eyes lids. Resting lightly against my chin, I froze as a finger softly massaged my bruised skin. I teasingly opened my eyes to find myself staring into two glowing orbs. Their bright blue light gazing right back into my own hazel eyes. His face was still hidden in darkness, except for a bit of his mouth. He was crouched down so his face was only a hairs breathe away from me. I watched as his lips slowly opened, and I let his surprisingly soothing voice fill my ears. "Don't worry sweetheart…you're not going to die today…" his voice was just over that of a whisper, but before I could understand or even appreciate what he had just said. His breath warm against my blood covered face as I felt the sharp jab of a needle being pushed into my neck, the new liquid filled my veins. His eyes started to form into two large blue blurs and his face mixed into the background. My lids grew heavy as the world around me became dark. "You won't die today…"


	3. 404

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̷̢̠̣͙̮̟̥̰̟͔̼̪̋̌͂̾̆͐́͒̉͐̈́͘̚͠E̸̡̮͇͍̖͚̝̮̗͔͌͐̐̄̅̊̔̑̍̈́̒͝͠x̸̢̩̞̤̪̬͙̜̗̞͓͑̉̎̌̉̓̔É̵̢͖̼͓͌̊͆̄̌̈͑̏͐͋̀̿̎͠.̷̡̖͈̪̜̬̦̪̂̀ ̸̡̡̗̗̹̻̭̱͖̠̭̙̍̀̅̿͛̈̎͊͋̇͝S̵̡̻̳͈͔͗̇̽͐̐̉́̀͜ǫ̸̟̥̅̃̓̊̅̌͐͑̉̉̕̚͜͠͠ͅm̴̡̖̥͙̲̗͓͓̜̫̠̪̆̽͊̓̍͑̉͋͛̉̚B̴̛̛̜͈̆͛̒͊͗̀̀̈́r̴̝̃̅̃̑̋̑̏͗́̂̋̐̌̚͝A̵̞̪͍͕̥̮̹̼̞͓̼͑̽̐̈̈́́̔̈́̕ͅͅ ̸̧̛͍̫̀͆̉̾4̷͚̞̲̀́̒̓͗̍̓́́̓͝͠ͅ0̴̧̪̜̺͖̱͖̻͉̖͇̆̑̎͂͗͋̆̾̓̅͜͠͠ͅ4̴͍̰͚̜͔̹̯̏̂̍̉͌

L̵̯̭̳̻͖̝̩̬̇̃͛͘ả̶̛͈͇͔̟͎̤͋͒͊̏̏͘͝͝

k̵̨̫̰͛̍̓̿̾̀͘ö̷̫̝͈̯͉̦͖͉͕̞̟́͊̀͋̉͗͘͘͘ͅ ̷̢̘̤̳̱̱̲͕͙̲̳͚̤̌̑̊̊̃̅̒͗̾͐͘͘͠ǫ̷̨̧̧̖̠͉̣̭̗͇͛q̷̡̢̧̛͖̹͈̝͚̯͈̤̫̠̠̐͗́̃̂͐̇́̕ͅu̷̢̢͖̲̤͚̼̫̮̗̯͚̬̟͚̎̋̃͋͆̒̿͑̒̍͆̕s̸̹͓̯̏͌͊̊̓̎̿̓̆͐͗̅̾͑̚é̴͚͓̠͈̀̋̀̍̎̽̄̄͛̄̄͐ ̵̢̳͈̻̱͖͚͉̠̭̪̠̑̅̆̎̍̒̐̇̃́̉̃̕͜p̶̳̓͋͑̕̚u̸̫̬͕͓̩͙̻̹̥̗͋̏̉̃̈̋̌́̉͛ ̵̡̤̼̠̹̺̯̠̗̉͗̉ͅơ̶͕̇̋̽́̾͗̈͝͝͠͝v̸̡̠͔̱̪̲̹͉̞͋̀̀̀̆͜͝͝ǫ̶̢͇͈͍̗̭̻̊n̷̡̨̪̲̠͖̬̒̅̽͘̚͜u̴̢̺̭͈̖̱̞̗̤͚͛̋͒̽͑͒̎̿̿̆̓̃̏̌̚͜ ̶̡̣̰̙͖̜̩̦̻̼̃̑̎̇̑̓͒ͅī̶̡̟̖͓̬͜b̸̨̥̰̂͒e̸̡͕̯̗̤͐͋̎̐͗̋̚͠s̵͓̳͛e̴̡̢̧̧̛̩̳̤̞͖̖͔͊̎̇͗̆̎͆̓͗̇͐͠ṭ̴̢̞̞͈̹̙̖̲͇̤͘̕ͅͅẽ̷̬̜̮̤̥̲̭̇ ̴̲̠̹̈́ͅg̵̝̹̞̣͖͙̫̤̫̙͕͔̎̍̾̄͆̂͛͊͌ä̴̢̛̯̫͖͇͒͗̋̀ḇ̵͙̱̳̪̬̱̲͍̰̓̆̐͆̓̋͐͂͝ę̵̛̼̳̬͊͊̋́l̵̨͕̺̮͈̭͉̺̺̲̟̽̉͊̎̈́͑̇͑͛̔͛̿͘̕͝ą̶͈̰͉͍̳̯̗̣̊̀͑̌͌̋͜ ̴̖̬̰̜̮͎̈̾͊͐͜͝r̶̛̲̬̼͇͍̳͊͗̈́̂͊͗̋̽͌͛̆͝͠ḭ̴̘̪̖͔̼̞̹̗̘̏̂͒̈́̈͘͠ţ̴̤͇̘͑́̉̃̄̓͑̿́͘͝͝u̴̥͎̰̮͙͉͙̟̱̞̿̀̓̄͗͜͠w̶̨̢̘̳͔̪̺̬̋̀̅̍é̵̼̟̜̹͚̐̿̋͋͊͛́̐̈͛͜͜͝t̴̨͖̊͑͛̋͘ ̸͓̻̼̰̝̜̭͔̤̘̩̫͈̥̯̏̍̈́̈̔̏͋̕ơ̸̦̳͓͖̞̖̩̠̯̗̓̅͛͂̅̾̊͝c̶̥̗͖͎̈̇͒͆͋̀̎́͒̀͛̌o̵̜̱̍̎̔̂̈́͊͌̌͗̇̂̎ń̸̘̪̘̜̘̠̱̗́̊͋̃̃̒̈́̋̽͘ͅö̸̪͓̤̖̘̗͈̭̠̀̈́̑̓̏̈́͆̈̕ ̸̝̥̊̿̒̒̄́̈́̓͆̌̂n̶̨̧̧̞̳̞̥̙͑̂̚o̴̞̝̘͈̅̆̆̈n̵̯̰͓͓̲̺̫̺̞̦̋̿̉͗̈͊̅͒̋͑̿̐͜͜͝͠ḙ̷͔̯̰̞̼͎͐̏̈̀̓̎́͛̐̑̚͠͝͠p̵̤̣̦̰̣̩̖͓͔͉͌̋͒̍͜ȯ̷̡̦̬̪̻̥͎̞̖̗ ̵̨̧̲̳̙̫̫͙̲̋͊́s̷̢̢̨̘̞̬̖̟̝̜̥̥̘̪͆͗̊̐̊͜͝i̵̧̬̙̘͚͖̇͐̓́̎̈́͝ë̷̻́̓͂̾͑͛͑͋̕͘͝n̶̡̨̡̡̼̥̜͔͕̜̱̬̮̤̿̽̅͂̀̒͛͑̒̋̈̃͘̚͝!̴͔̲͕̇́́̿̈́ ̵̥̱͇̮̝̟́͂N̶̞̑̊̾͛ȋ̸̡̛̖̮̘̣͐̄͗̍͜ḉ̶͔̳̲͎̰̜̘̣͛̿͌ ̷̫͍̺̬̞͎͂͒̈́͒̌̈́̊͋̃́̍͘̕̕͠v̶̮̾̽͋̃̈́́̓̑̽̀̚̕͠e̸̢̝̻̥̠̥͇̺̘͓̤̯͜͝ṇ̷͔̜͚̗͔̑e̸̡͈͎̱͔̎͊̀̅̄͋̈̀̇́͜͝ ̸̰͖͙̺̝̠̬̙̩̣̝̰̅͋͜͜͝͝ͅv̸̡̝͇̯͉̯̙͚̬͓̠͚̫͛͊́̉̅̊̈́̅̋̈́͜͝o̵̜̹͔̯̟̙̬̯̯̝̼̒̇͜l̴̡̧̦̭̼̪̯̠̩̍̓̌̈́͘͠e̷̦̭̤̗͎͈͉̤̳̱̺͍̻̱̍̍̄̏̑͛́̿̍͂́̅̍̉͜͝f̷̢̪͇̮̼̹̑̑̎̿͆̉͗̔̉͂̎͘͝e̷̢̡̧̡̛̙͎̗̗̤̣͈̰̬͛̈͐̾̃̈́̂̉̕̕͜͝ͅr̴̨͎͈͙̹̬̝͙͔̞̹͖̖̈́̃̃̈́̾ ̸͇͈͎̬̙̇̈́͝͝ḙ̷̞͕̆̍̅͘q̴̛̛̞̹̗̺̦̝̥̼̈͆̒̒̓͒̂̚͜͝ơ̴̞͉̋͊̒̒̆̐͂͊̈͊̏͐̚d̵̨̮͙̲͖̠̭̳̞̞͑͐̋̀̒̋̓̆̓͜ë̴̡̡̥̲̞̭̠͈̬͈̳͙̠̳́́̀͂̈̇̉́̒͒̓̏̐̔͜ ̴͙̼̠̞͈͒͆ç̶̼͕̫͇̪͔̘̃͑͛͑̆̈́̇̔̇͌͜͠u̶̺͕̟̟̠̠̻̱̼̬̙̻̭̎̅̓̿̏̉̉̀̆͗̚͘͜ͅr̴̡̗͖̳̥͉͓͉̲̻̫̪͂̆̈́̋͛͗͐̀̏͝.̷̬̟͎̗̖̫̫͕̰͒͋̊̈̈́͗̅̎͋̏̔͊̑̈͜ ̵̱̆̅͊̓̃͘Ơ̷̢̜̲̦̫̩̟̥̹̱̳̗͍̫̕ń̴̡̛̛̬̠̯̗̬͖̣͖̬͙̒͒́͊̾͗͑̈́͝͝͠͝ǫ̷̩̮̫̆̍̅͌͌r̶̗̲̬̙͖̝͍̟͖̩̻͈͊̋́̏̎̽̀̓̕͜͠e̴̛̟̠̯̞͇̜̭͕̒͌͒̍̂̐̿̈́̍͠h̴̡̯̞̼̣̼̹̥̫͈̟̘͌̔͐̐̎̂͜ ̸͓̠͉̳̝̦͍͖͉͋̍̈́̕̚d̸̡̼͔̰͓͍̬̝̳̅̈́̒̈́͒̀̀̈́͜ĭ̸̪̼̣̳̅͂̑͊͑̔̿̉̋̈́̐̌ ̵̛̺͎̬̟̖̝̼́̀t̶̢͖̱͓̳̥͉̩̦̩̠̞͌͌́̎̿̑̕͠͝e̵̡̦̺͚͖̜̗͙͎̫̩͈̭̓͊̓́͛̀̃̏̋͝͠ṗ̸̛̟̣̭̋̐̄̌́̔̃̓͠͠ë̵̢̮͈̼̥̭̬̥͎͉͇̠́͋̿̀͂̄́̅͊̕̕͜͝d̴̛̜̽̍̃͆̍͗ ̸̙͍̩͕̥͔̋͗͑͒̍̊̓͛̄͑͜͝͝ͅͅė̷̢̢̢̜̹͕̥̖̗̺͚̩͋̿̔̉̆̈́̌̾͂̈́͊͛̕h̵̳̝͕̖̜͂e̴̠̐͗̒̔̃̆̄̆̈̓̍̍̕ḿ̵̛͍͉̤̼̝͙̣͐́̄͂͊͊͆̇́̈́͘͝ų̴͓̘̯̙̥͇̍̔̉́͐͂̌͊̚͝p̶̜̎͗̈́͛́̃̈́̓͆͌͂ë̸̛̤̘̹̪̩̬̲͓̥̣͈͈͈̣̓̈̇̋̄̿̌̽͜͝ĺ̵͔̻̹̬̳͉̱̝̝̩͕̲̬̑́̓̓̇͑̀͐͘͘͠͝ ̸̨̡̛̙͈̫͎͍̮͕̝̙̥̗̱͒̀̾̄̒̃̓͛͊̿̀̒͜͝n̴̘̤̦̫͍̅͐͐͋͜o̶̧̤̯̼͎̺̩̳̬͚̫̪͈̖̫̐̚ ̴̛̰̆̌̽̇͆͗̋̒́͘͘͘͝͝i̴̝̻͐̈́͛̊̽̄̀̆̇̚͘t̴̗͚̣̣̙̲̲̦̹̰͊̈̄̃̏̑̉̓̅̾͛̚͝ą̷͎͎̫̬̻̻͔̬̈̑̒́̓̽͌̎̂͛̍̕̕͝l̸̡̮̫̯̭̼̹͇̫͓͓̺̗̞̈͑̎́̐̓̿̒̈̏̔̊̈́ͅě̷͎̪̻̮̣̟̤͕̼͚̳ͅr̶͎͇̋̓ĕ̶̛̛͈̜̻̳̝̝̗͒̑̉̃̓̾̈̋̓̈͐͘ͅͅ?̸̹̭͉̙̹͕̰͇̫̦̀͐͊̔̃ ̷̛̝̯̜̻̫̤̔̂͐͒̌̄́͑͊͛͠͠͝ͅC̵̢̞̦̲͚̮͎̣̺͚̗̰̙̈́̃̿ͅi̶̠̥̖͖͚̟̭̳̯̯̇̂̑͗͜ͅ ̶̺̮̝̱͛s̵̱̘̯͔̯̰̉̀̾̋͑̋̋͐̾ė̴̥͍̻̱̬̖͖̤̥͋͛̎́̑͗̄̀͜n̶͍̠̱̗͕̏̀͐̾̿̿̌̕͘ï̷͙̼̬̗̮̞̳̙͙̬̰͍̠̄̔̂̈́̆̌̒̿̏̏͘̕͠͝ͅě̸͚̣̖̎̂͑̊̀̈́̒̊̓̈́̕ ̸̨͕̖̥̓̊͗͌͊̅͗̀́̑̕͠͠ͅf̴̨̩͇̭͓̪̤͑ḯ̸̝͉͍̘̉͛̐̂̕̚͜ͅh̶̪̠̙̘͙͓̝͇͓̫̣̫̽͊̑̀̂̾̓̈́̏̓͑͑̌̏ͅơ̶̛̜̰̬̝̠͍̩̘͙͉͋̊́͊̑̊̏̈́̄͛͑̕y̷͍͇̔̓̇ ̷̹̎͌͘͝r̵̨̥̜͇͓̼̲̄̔͘͝ͅi̵̛̼̺̎̒͘͝r̴̡̨̧̛͕̼͔͇͉̬͎͚̺̰͊͑̃̊̏̌̋̀̔̏̾ą̷̟͓̥̻̥̹̼̙̈́͆̈̌̔̽͋̋̈́̃̒͒̔͠t̶̡̡̡̢̮̣̹̺̳̜̰̒͂̿́̆́́͛̋͂̐̚͘ ̵̪͚̬͆̌̽̈̑͛̎̃̐͂̍̓̕r̴̢̯̙̹̲̹̋́̓͐͒̓ǐ̵̡̞̼̣̯̰̭̰̯̲̟̯̒̄̈́́̔̂̍̓̕e̶̢̨̜͎̥̰͓̣̺̣͎̼͚̖̓̓̕r̸̡̮͉̲̩̗͎̗̱͜͝i̷͖̬͍͇̤̞̙̪͇̝̤̮̒͛̕c̴̩̝̞̹͌̑̄̅̿̈́͆̒̏͗͒â̴̠̞̖͙͍̣̘̱̮̼̗̓̆̄̈͜k̵̠͇̹̻͕̼͎̳͘ ̷̨̞͉̼͈̜͉̦̜͐̓̃̀̔̄͠͝ͅͅn̶͇͙̯̟̘͑̈̋̓͂̓̈́̊͒̓͂͘̕i̴͇̘͖̫͙̖͕̭̘̣̲̟̔̾̾͒̔̾͐̇͐̉̕̕͜ͅ ̴̨̛͈̹̤̲̱̱͉̲̭̤̹͚ţ̶̫͕̞͈̯̤̯̳͙̙́̐͌̿͑͂̀̐e̸̱̭̬͂̀̐̂͆̾y̷̨̡̡̨̻̜̺̱̮̭̣̯͗͐̌̎͛͝ ̸̧̨̛͉̬̳̳͎̻͖̱̖͈͐̎́̋n̴̢̢̟̖̱̗̫͕̱͍̩̗̊̿̉̔̄̋̔i̶̹̮̺̳̥͎͇̺͛y̷̧̛̜̤̦͔͉͕̏͌̆̆̉̃̾͊̽̈́̅̓͘͝u̷̝̭̲̺̞̠̞̗̦̳͆͆̔̔̍ḑ̷̛̹̤̎͒̎͠͝é̵̢̜͎̩̭͎̅̌̍͒̋̀k̷̞͍̅̍̓̉̾̄͘͠ͅ ̵̨̛̘̳͍̝̗̗͓̯̒̔̎̅͊̀̚r̷̼͐̍̉̈́͋͂͋̈́̇̏̈́̍̈̌o̶̘͈̎̋͑͒̀͐̾̀́̎͊̚͠p̷̨̧̩̱̋͒͊̽i̶̢̧̡̛͈͕̥̣̻̦̙̮̻̱̪̬̎̓̇͘.̴̫̙̫̦͓̅̂̍̉́̎͐́̈́̀̓͠ ̸̧̡̜̘͔̰̫͖̼̪̙̪̼̤͋̿̈́̈́͆̉́̒͌́́̉͂͗͝P̵̟̼̞̻̠̆̈́̆͘ơ̶̧̻̬̖̣̻͕̻̙͌̒̂̍̂̐̑̓̓́͘͠s̵̨͙͇͈͕͉͖͕͇̪͝ô̶̦͓̎̆͂͌̉̆͗̃̚͘̚͜͠n̶̡̥̠͌͆̈́̚ï̵̺̹̯̟͔̥͕̯̼̩̹̥̹̙͍͐͊̍ ̷̢̺̲̻̤̟̪̰͔̝̯͍͓͒͜͝v̴̭̒̆̀͑͊͘͝à̴̛̘̪̥̆ţ̵͚͙͙̱͓͋ẻ̴̛̥̲͚̹̥͓̙͓̙̐͋̿̓͒͗̃̒̃͝ ̷̙͒̍̉̂́̾̀͌͗̊͆͗e̸̛̠̣͒̇̇̆̃̔̅͒̿̔̈̆͘͘n̸̛̹͙͉͍̈́̓̒̒̃͊̓̂̽̄͘͘͝͠ó̵̞͚̪͍̱̂̅̉̎̈́͠d̸̼͉̙̱͚͍̙̙̀͐͊͒̋̔̚̚ė̸̛̜͙͉̭̰͕̬̟͎̺̲̫͙̇̔̿̂̾̀͋̂̾͋͛͘͝ś̶̡̨̨̝͈̹̮̙͇̗̭̰̼͜͜ơ̸̛̱̲̼͓͙̟̹̲̣͈̼̼̽͊͒́͐̈̀ ̶̢̢̗̹̝̠̗͂̀̔͝ͅa̵̫͎̪͈̣͍̖̱͇̩͇̓̌͗͂̏̂͜͝ṝ̵̯̹͕̔̄̃̍͗̓̊͋͒u̵͖̎͂́̅́͑́̀̅͋̕̚̕̕b̸̛̛͇̲̱͙͚̙̿̐̄̒͌͆͂̇̎̾͛͘o̷̖̥̠̬̫͗̉̀͝c̶̠͕͙̝̙̀̀̍͐̓̎̎̈́͝ ̴̡̧̛̜͍͎͉̦̻̳̲͍̀̈́̀̐̔͋ǎ̶̡̨͇̞̻̮̱͕̝̰̝̗͙̦͋̈́̈̒̀̚̕͘ċ̸̲͍̥̿́̿̈͛͝ͅå̸̧̗͍̱̙̖͕͈̙̈́͛̍̈́͋ͅn̶̖̓͒̓̓͌͜e̷̺̘̒͗̿͒̅̈́́̂̂̓̾͠͠n̶͈̪̩̜̼͇͇̝̱̪̆͒́́́̍̽o̶̳̗͖̫̹͙̾̔̑́͆͝ͅ ̴̛̜͖̃͐̌̇̋̇̀̅͌s̴̬͉̖̫͚͇̘̯͗̇͛͑͘i̶̧̢̛̛̠͙͙͈̝̥͑̊̎̈̂͑͂̾̔́͘̕͜͜c̶̰̻̺̹̍̋̂̋̓̓̊̑̉͝o̴̢̧̗͙̪̺͗̿̄l̴̤̳̫͙̱͚̦̠̩͍͈̫̋̕͘͝a̸̛̠͈̞̻͋͂̈́̋̃͘g̶̲͕̳̏̽̍͠ ̵̛̛͖̋̒͐̓̾̍͑̾͆͂i̷̡̼̫̣͙̱̰͓̼̓́̿́́̍̊͋͋̇͝e̸̡̜̙̪͕͕͉̪̝̘̗͓̮̻̭̓̔̒̓̑̓̎̌͝ļ̸͇̩̘̜͔̉̀̇̓͐a̶͈̽̈́̕y̷̼̫̝̐͛̅͆̆̈́̾͛̑ą̵̧̛̫̘͚̩̤̯̼̖̥͉͔͙̆̌̉̋̈́̈́̈́̀̓̇̚͜ṉ̶̛̱̹̮̅͗̑̍͗̀͒̂̍̎̑͜i̵̧̘̘̘̭͍̝͇̫͚̭̝̩͕͛̿͐̌̔̎̽͌̕͠y̸̺̫̮͇̠̲̌̾̈́̉̈́̌̏,̷̡̲̍̏̈́̈̈̑͆̊̎͘ ̸̱̫̻̱̟̳͉̬̘̙̬̤̖͐̀̇̓̓̈́̔̀̈́͝ͅͅc̷̼͉͙͂̅̄̄̈́̒̏̃͛̄͊̍͝e̸̞̖͑ ̵̬̺̤̼͔̏͊͂̕c̸̥͈͙̺̲̪̐̎̓̌̏ḁ̷̂̿͊͒̉͐͐́̒̅̋̽̒̄č̵̺̪̣̫͠i̵̮̞̬̙̣͚̗̙̗͙̮̹̻͇̹̎e̵̡̛̩͔̹̻͓͎̫̱̬͌͊̏͐̈́̌̓͌͐̄̈́͆t̴̜͚͚̞̗͊̊́͑̐͊̒̏͠ĕ̴͎̻̄̓̀̐̀̈͝p̴̻̟̣̦̲͇̘͙̾͌̓̀̅̏ ̸̨͙̖͓̪̓̄̿̈́̆͂͐͆̿̀̕ͅl̴̥͍͚̮͎͚̫̩̹̫̣̗̲͐̽͐̈̂̀̐̈́͗̓̃̓͜i̶̡̠̝̣͕̻̅̔̆̚͝m̵̡̺̺̟̯͙͎̞̙̜̭̭̪͎͗̿̀́̈́͠͠a̶̲̫̭͕̹͑͝r̸̗̣̳̰̬̙͙̉͐̊̏̔̑͆̆̐̆e̶͔͊̓́̉͌̿̔̓͘͝͝ ̷̟̖̦͖̩̞̤̑̅́̇̚h̶̡̨̻̦͕̖̖͕̖̮̠͉̬̜̿̄͋̏̋̄͆̅͑̆͒̏͠ͅę̶̛̠̖͔̩͚̤͔̙͚̾̾̑́̍͗̀͂̆͝s̶͖̯̙͍͐̒͋̃̓͗̋̀͒ȧ̴̡̢̞̟̟̖̖̠̠͔̩̣̀͆͑̅̓͜͝ͅ!̸̗̳̲̜̲̩́̔ ̴̻̖̝̓̒̒͆͛̅̋̎͊E̸̢͍̻̘̱̣͕̮̹͕̔̓̓̂̃́̎͒͜ẅ̵́͜e̸̻̞̐́͂͒̍̈͒͠l̶̩̐̓̂̔̌́͊̿̉̅̒̿́̂̚ ̶̨̡̨̝̟̪̼̲̠͍̳̹͋́̀̍͠c̷̹͓̫̭̲̳̆͒̀͗̊͑̃̊͛̅̆̎͘̚͝ͅö̷̞͍͓͓͕̕ͅͅś̴̻̬̜͍̦̘̠͇͙̹̖̖̋͝e̴͎̳͗̓͒̍̈́̾́ ̷̡̈́̈́̈́̍̈́͐̐̏̓̓̅̽̎̕͠ȉ̵͇̲͇̖̥̰͙̲̩̪̣͙͑̈̏̽̀̎̄ͅh̷̪̝̜̞̯̟̗̠̯̣͉͛͑̉̑̀̊̑͐̂̂́͘͠͝i̸̹̙̼̥̣̫̭̯̫̞͎̮͔͉̳͗̎̌͐̾̂͘ë̵͙̩͚̪͍̖͕͈̜̄̏̈́̀͗͋r̶̨̪̖̺͗͌͑͊͐̆͜͝ͅṳ̸̮͔͎̘̻́t̸̢̢̯͙̤̟͙̬̩̖͙͙̓̆̈́͑̔̒̎̀͠͠a̷̼̠͎͔͗̉̊̔͛͂̔̽̑̌̃͛͛̎̚ ̶̡͇̣̂̀͐́d̷̡̨͖̲̗̳̱̳̏̋̏̈͑͐ą̷̞̣̱̙̻̦͇̭̟͋̐͂͝r̷͚̞̟̰̈́̈́̀͋͆̽̓u̸͈͉͇̱͍̰̹̤͕̼̬͂̍́̆̓̄̋͑̓̏̎̐̄̕͝ ̵̢̢̝̺͖͚̺̋͋͑͒̂̈͛̀̋͠ę̶̢̧͇̦̭̝̟͕̙̈͒͝ͅr̴̘̳̞̖̓̈̃̉͜ą̵̡͚̪͚̬͕̯̻̟̠̺͚̜͋̋̎̽͝ͅ ̴̢̛̰͔̰̟̯̍̆͗̅̏̃͛͊̓̕͜͜͠m̶̛̛̖̠̳͓̰̜̥̫̳̝̘̜̊͐̍̑̕͜ę̸̨̲̗͈̘̹͈̭̹̲͑́͜b̸̢̩̘̪̺̀͗͒̄̌̅̇̐e̷̛̝̓͋̇̽̂͆̈̔̽̿́̐̈̆ń̵̡̛͍͈̣̠̥̺̰͊͑͊̈́͊́̕͘͝͝͝ḙ̶̛̽̿͊̄̒͛̈ͅ ̷̟͚̘̙̬̯̠̿̄̊́͗̀́̎̈́̽̓̓̕͝͝ẁ̷͙̹̈́͗̈́̒̔̃̚̕͝͝į̸̨̢̜̭̥̤̞̬̩̠̬̻̣̭̂̿̌̎͆̂̒͆̈́͂̃e̷̬͎̤͕͈͎̹̤̝̍̌̈͛͆̅̉̿͛̅̐̕͠͝͠ͅ ̷̡̣̭̩͓̄͆̇̈́͑͑̆̋́̍̂̚p̷̧̘̦̲̩͓̳̏̔̈́̊͑̒̽̑́͐̈́̕̚ę̶̢͓̥̹̲̣̓͐̔́̋̃̿̓͊̂͜͝ ̸̡͙̘̗̤͓̪͗̍̆̒͐ç̴̛͙̗͑́̍̂̽̉̒͐̕͝͠a̷̛̘̝͔͔̬͇̽̈̿̽̈͝h̷̜̻̱̝̺̣̹̹͓̺̤̯̟̩͋͝.̷͙̟̩͕̥͕̪̘͇͚͉̣͎̆̀̿̃̓̔͂͝ͅ ̷̡̲̭̘͍͔̮̘̯͈̈́̈́̈͒̍̕͜͠Ȋ̶̡̤̩̒t̵̨̛͉̑͒̉̌̒͑̒̉ȩ̵̙̬̫̪̒͑̑́͜͝s̶̛̰̪͇̝͛ṓ̸̧̧̡̳̰̙̥̬͉̭̫̺̩̝̺̑̈̇̈́͊͘ ̶̢̹̟͈̪̫̯̜̈́c̶̛̩̼͎̗͖̜̻̣̓̂͑̇͆̀̆̀̋̍̊͜͝i̵̢͈̎̇̍̓̆͝ͅr̵̢̢̢͍̱̜̝̦̜̼̱̩̝̃̈̂̆̓̾͝͝i̵̭̟͙̝͙̘͈̊̅̋̀̉̒̍̍͑̉̃̋͜͜͠m̸̲̬̼͎̳̹̝̹̘̝̱͕̆̀̊̓̂̀͛̀͂͘é̵̡̧͔͈͇̯̜̱̟̱̠͙͙̓̉f̵̧̟̼̱̠̻̳͈̹̭̜͇̍̀̃̃͐̂͗͗̐̓͂͊̕͠͝ ̵̱̟̤̙̜̹̭̻̬̭͉̹̎̓̈́̀̄c̶̘͖̉̎͝͠e̵̯̘̣̦͇̖̊̂̀͐̍̌̂͒̍͋̑͂̐̂ͅġ̴̺̹̬̫̭̫̱͓͖̘̪̺̣͈̔̐́̕͠͝ͅũ̵̖̜̺̮͎͓̈́̔̌̊͒͘͜t̴̙̩̳̹̊͛ą̷͎̭̳̮̣̦̥͖̫͕͚͆̆͂̎͑͘͝͠ ̶̨̻͇̟̅͛̀͑̇̃̅͆͜͝e̵̗̦̗̩̠̳͉̿̌̋̂̾͒̂͘ņ̸͖̝̳̗̩̣̪̐a̵̧̺̘̮͒̋s̷̢͍̝̫̮͉̼͍̕ǒ̴͔̞͉͚͓̝͔̫͌̏l̵̛̛̪̹̺̮͕̥̺̞̍̈́̓̚͜i̸̛̜̘̠̤͓͚̘̤͕̞̘͒͑̐̈́̓̉́́͝.̵̛̞̻́̿̾̆͝ͅ ̸̢̛͖͇͎̲̗̜͋̇͛̋́́̆̀̚L̶̖̊̑̌̽̾͝e̷̹̫͒̀̎̄̽̕͘ ̶̢̛̳̳̦̜͓̈́̈́͗̏͋́̈́̅͊̂͘̕͜͠͠ȍ̵̢̧̙̯̠̮̤̤͔̣̱̩̼͑̑̊͘͜͝͠ͅṕ̵̡̲̝̣̈́̂̂́͋̒͑̚ĭ̴̢̯̱͉̮̱͕͙̞͍̤̱̘̃̀͛̄͋ń̸̢̳̯̹͍̘̠̼̻̜̫̫̭̰̩͂͂͒̉̀̏̿̀́̾̈̊͝ą̶̗̙̮̤̬͙͓̟̥̠̪͓̯̳̌̔́̑̕ ̴̨̛͈̹̬̥̪̭̱̦̬͗͛̌̐͊́̾̌̚͘ẗ̷̢̰̘̱̟̠̳̩̲̖̦͍̭̬̀̽̄̚̕͠ͅi̵̛͎͚̲̭̓̆̀̐͐̋̈́̅͝l̴̢̳͇̖̖̙͙͖͍̘͉̑͆̽͠ ̶̢̮̺͕̩̯̥̜͉̺̠̗̻̭̀͜ṇ̷̢̡̢̭̯̪͉̱͇̼̍̀͌̈͂̒̇̍̔́̔̅͂͝e̷̼̱̦̬͙̳̼͚̠̚̕ͅt̷͈̊͒͐͌͛̇ṍ̷̢̖̺̟͉͊̋̎͗̈́͒̽ͅv̸̱͚̒̅̈̀̆̈́͌̈́̂̇͘͘̕͝͝o̴̧͉͙̘͚̣̤̼̱̭̳͕̝̖͐͒̎ ̴͙̫̰̗͂̑͗̃̋̇̈́̃̚ḛ̴̠̥̫̳̪̮͍̣͖̱̲͈̣̹̽̔̾͊̏̏͘m̷̧͚̻̝̟̬͍̠͙̣̳̙̠͊̍̽͐̂̂̓̒̈́̑̿͊͛͜͠ͅe̸̢̡̻͈͚̝̯͍̬̹͔̻̻͗̓̍̇̉͐̐̾̃͂̐͑̃͝m̷̨̲̱̤͎̹̳͔̬̙̯͔͎̦̹̅͒̍̈́̄ ̶̧̮̘͎̦̻͙̻̙̟̯̥͚͇̘͌̊s̵͙̝͙̿̋̔̀͒͊̇͐̑͒̃͗̀͘͘u̴̜̺͇̥̳͎͇͓̮̯̹̣͚̼̮̒̉̉̿̐̾̉͗̓̆̽̉͘̕n̷̲͈̗̞̹͙̞̝̓̈́ͅȩ̴͍͙̳̬̠̖͎̜̳̗̦̄͑͌͆͑̇͐̍̀̄̕͠ ̴̦̜̼̘͔͌̔̒̒͝ͅp̷̡͔̲̹̖͉̗̲͚̔̈́̓̍͛̓̾̏̕ͅỏ̸̡͙͔͓̰̝͎̖̘͚̐̈c̴̨̛̗̠̯̘̜͔͗̊͐̆͆̐̈́͆̀̒̔̌͠ͅā̷̢̧̩͙͇͙̖̺̦͙̬̾͑͒͌̈́́͆̀̊̋̍́͝͝ͅ ̷̭̭̞̖͕̝̯͙̼̻͇̮͓̋̔̔̄̾̔̀̃̑̌͊̄̆ę̷̖̺͉̜̖͈͉̮̥̭̥̎̍̚͜n̵̨̼̠̯͍̈͌̇͋̊̿͒̎̓̈́̈́͜a̵̯͂̚ ̸̧̤͕̥͈͈̪̍̏͗̈̅̀̽̊̚͘̕ę̶̨͚̰͍̤̱̤̈́̐̋̍͊́̔̈́͆̎̕͘ṋ̵̨͙͇̲̦̱̘̓̔̈̈͘a̴͉̪̙̬̯̝̪̫̅́̓̃̒͗̕͝ͅ.̸̧͓͉͓̭̙̃̉̈ ̶̧̛͓͈̞͓̅͌̓̓̍̋̉͒̎̍̀͘̚͜ͅĜ̶̬̾̇̂͛̈́̆̀̃̚͝ë̷̝̩͉̫͚̘͔̺̠͖̯́̈́̌̇͘ņ̷̢̯̫͉̼͈͈͇̝̣͚͉̳͐͐̍̑̇̾͂ ̴̹͉̯̭͖̮͉̆̽̐̾̄̾͜͝e̷̛̥̗̩̳̘̥̺̗̓̓̑̄͐̄̄͐̉̃̕t̵̢̡̗͖̯̟͉̜͉̭͚̭͉͋į̴̘̣̫̞̫͍̯͉͆̾̎͊̑͐̃̾̅̈̃̇̒̕͜d̴͙̮̗̳͖̗̑̈́́͊͜͝ͅǭ̴̧͍̪͍̖̪̰̦͔͓̤̞̹̅͑͝ͅn̷̦͌̒̈́̂͝ ̷̼̠͎͉̜̞̯̲̼̼͖̻̈́̍̇̐̀̀̀̏̚͝ų̷̛̛̪̜͚͍̤̀̾̀̑͛͛͂̽̔͌̀̽n̵̛͉̯̗͖̈͛͒͑͒̒͛̈́̉͆̍̽̄ĕ̷̗̫̤͇̞̼̓͐c̷̡̧̧̨͓̺͓͙̤͙͎̲̽͂̈́͋̍͝.̴̛͇̥̤̟͎̌́̓́̉̾́̎̆͊̽̚͜ ̴̥̎͒̾́̈́X̸̺͎̹̟̏̇͒́̏͗̄̓̓̓͘̕͝͠ę̸͙̳͉̣̖̯̝̭͉̂r̶͕͚̭̩̞͐͊̈́̌̐̓̒͌̾͘a̶̧͔̲̲͓̤͚̤͈̤͗͛͋͛̐̌͐͗͗͛̆͠͠͠s̵̗̱͓̘͚̹̗̖͉͍̪̖̬͔̪̉̒̆̾̓̾͊̕͝ì̸̢̫̩̝̥̥͚͎͚̮̪̞̾͛̚ṱ̶̢̠̩̙̠͉͂̂͐̆͋͐̑̆ ̵̥̮͎͎̳̍̋̅̐l̸̦͕̳̮̗̱̱̼̰̣̦̲̑̈́͛͆̽̿į̶̡̢̨̤̰̩̥̹͕͉̼̰̠̓̉͠͠s̷̡̱͚͔̲̥͉̗͍̪̺͓̮̀͗̒̑̎̈́́̂̔̔̀̉̅ͅơ̸̧̡̛̦̹̪͙̻̠͙͈̜̱̹̱̖̓̇͌͊̎̃͋̈̉́̚͘͠ŕ̷̗͈̲̭̟͓͑ ̶̩̹̹̼̺̂̏͒͋̒́͜͝͝c̶̽͠ͅǫ̴̟̦̠͓͓̩̼̭͌̈́͊͗̒̇̋̐̓͘̕̚g̶̱̮͍̳̩̳̍̏̌̀̌̋͒́͊į̸̢͓̫͙̺̩̺͉̬͇͚͐̂̾̋̔̈́͜͜ṱ̸̫̗̭͕̹̝̥̄̆͆͗͂̇̂̊̕͠ͅę̷̧̼͇͕̦͕̱͈́̇́͒͐͋͐̄̽͘͘̚̚͝͝ḑ̴͍̯̝͇͓̑̔̇͂̈́̃͒ ̴̢̨͖̹̘̺̰͈̟̐̇̀̌͊̆͛̀̽̿̋̎͐̕͠s̷̨̧̛̤̘͚̺͎͚͕͚͓͎͈͔̽̍̅̽͌̎ǐ̵̧̗̤͎̖̫͉̙̺̫̹̥̪̘̌ţ̷̛̤̜͍͖̈́́͜ą̴̣̣͙̖͓̪̯̫̥̭̺̭̓͗̀̄̉́͠͠n̸̜̪̣͔͓͓̙̗͎̱̗̣̱͊̉̿̋͆̈̈́̅̓̋͒͛́͐͜͝ ̵̛͓͙̣̼͚͇͍̭͍͋̈́̈́͌̓̀͜͜g̸̢̱̙̻̣͇̠̠̦̭̋͋͠á̶̡̟̥͎̲̺͚̙̥̺͚̍̅͗̒̑̀̀̓̍͝͝ͅ ̷̛̤͇͎̜͉̟̙̿̓̉͌̈͛̍̽͊́̚͜ḟ̴̬͉̣̱͚̪̊̒̅̓̀̓̀͘̕͝ē̸̡̝̫̪̫̥̔̔͌̓̈́͊̓̂͝t̴̞̘̫͙̭̝͙͈̰͂͊͆̂͠ͅo̸̲̬̞̘͚͇̊͐͒́̈́y̵̢̧̤̙̠͕͎̻͓͚̪͕̌̃a̶̛̹̜̙͒̄̒̉̔̃̒͌̌̈̕͘ ̵̧̢̺̹͎̭̹͇̼̦͎͎͉̮͗̾̎͝t̷̺̣͍̖̬͙͕͔̲̪͍͈̜͇͒̈́͜a̷̢̛̱͙̻̠̬͖̣̮̝̓̅̊͂̾͒́̉̑͘͘̕̚̕͜s̶̛̩̪̑̇̽̆̎̾̈́́̊͋͒̚͝ǎ̵̤͖̫̤̬̮̅͊͌͛̐͒̽̏̍̎̕͘͠c̵̖̖͈͂̋̓͒e̷̡̧̜̼͙̙̠͕̞̺͍̳͔͐̾̌́̒͋́͘ ̴͉̖͖͈̹͖̙̮͎͈̻̿̈́͆̓̾̒̍̌͑͋̏̍̆͛̎͜c̴̨̪̝̦͚͙̊̒̅͘͜ͅü̶̳̹͈̜̤̮̼͎͙̝̍̅͌͂̚ͅd̷̤̘͓̙͉͚̖̬͈̳͖̓͋̌̈̂͜u̸̖͔͙̬͛̂̃̕͠ŗ̶̧̢͔̜̖̯̭͆̂̈́́͜ͅ!̸̠͙̘̺̫͇̳̬̤̼̹̥̱͇͖͑̇̓͆̉̔̔̃̎͋̇ ̸̼̩̲̗͇̩̳̙̪̖̰̗̲͉̈͗̆͐̂͜Ļ̷̢̢̛̦̙̳̭̝̦͎̪̠̘̂͆͝é̸̠̗̗͚̩̳͙̯ͅ ̴͓̣̳͕̲̝̝̞͔̹̯̦̥́̏͜n̵̡̟̟̥̰̗̙̰̥̭̞̩̥̋͜ͅè̴̢͖̰͎̓̎̅̎̆̄͑̉̂̈́̚͝n̷̨̨̪̞͉͖͙̘̲͓͍̆̍̀̎̌̈́̒̊̇̈́̕͘͜͝͝i̴̬̖͇̘̣̓͂̈́b̷͙̺̖̫̪͖̣̹͍̮̻͌͂͐͑̃̽̚ ̴̧̩̼̯̤̮̤̤̗̹̣͔̬̅͑͐͜ǹ̸̙̫͐̅͛̈́̀̆͂͘͝͝ǫ̶̼̭̺̺͕͉̩̹̖̇̍͒͑̏̐̾͋̚t̷̲̰͚͍͇̜̰͇̘̝͆̈́͐̋̅̋̑̚̕ǫ̵̛̲̘̠̦͊̐̈̅̄̅͘v̶̳͉̼̯̰̤̙̭̖͚̎͝a̷̛̟̭̠̟͎̤͉̼̩̰̔͋̑͛̉́͂͆̓͝:̷̢̘͚͍̮͕̺̭̭̺̫̄̋́̑͗͗̐̇̔̓ͅ ̷̛̟͕͙͙͍̙͈̑̃̓̚Ĕ̵̝̇̂̃͊͌̇̊g̵̛͕̺͇̩̭̘̜̬̗̤̪̘͊̀̄̀̚̚͜͠ͅė̵̛͚̟c̴̢̢̻͎̬̣̤̱͚͚̯̤̰͇͖̾̀̅̆̔͛ǫ̴̜͍̞̼̼̗̬̺̯̻̔̌͗ͅq̴̨̜͚͓̖̫͚̹̭̤̻̲̼͊͌͜ͅo̵̭͎͒̊ ̸͓̖̱̠̀̓̄̇̐̈́̐̉̈̈́͜͝d̸̺̤͍̓̔̓i̵̢̼̞̗̰̜̯̥͚̤̓̈̇̅t̷̠̗͇̼̄́͑̓͐̏͒̾̀̃̈́̈́̇͜͝ͅu̵̺͈͉̞͇͊̉̐̚y̸̖͠͝ò̷͚͇͚̩̦͓̫̜̱̬̇̆̊̄̓͛̕͝h̴͉̞̬̣͗͐̅̀̉͒̆̃̚͝ ̸̢̬͇͍̞͒̏̐̍̀͊̃̐̍̔̔̕̚ͅạ̴̡̡̘͎̰̼͑̾̌̽͋̔r̵͔̻̪̹̠̗̺̟̳̮̯̄͋̎̿̅̂͘͝a̴̛͖͍̤̹̤̮̦̣͖͓̥͈̲̅̅̀̀͂̔̉͗̍͂̇͛̈̕w̶̧̢̮̹̥͗͒̀͌̾̉͑̈́͐̑̀͘͠͝ ̸̨̤̫͔̻̪̙̭͚͊̇̎̆̊s̴̱͕̟̳̏͛́́į̸̢̜̲͖͍̰̪̲͒̎͗̿̃͜͝ ̴̺̺̮̻̳̯̼̱̖̺͓̼͖̞͛̀̅̒̓͊͜͝f̸̯̰̱̦͊ơ̷̧͎̠̺̠̙̙͈̜̘̣̯̼͐̍̈̔̎͌͐̄̄̈́̍̚f̶̞͎̯̖̓̈́̄̈́̇̄̽̍̿̐̈́̕͠͝͝ͅǫ̸̛̣͙͚̫̙̺͙͚͈̩̳͚̉̾̆͂̍̈̃̾͜͝ḋ̸̯͒ ̷͈͎͓̱̊̋̇͂̋̌͑͝ę̵̨͔͈͈̯͙̜̭̥̣͒̿͂͋͂̓̌́́̍ͅģ̷̡̡̭̰̟͖̬̩̖̞̹̭͕̏̾̽͌̆̋̉͊͊̕͘ǐ̵̛͙̤̥̳͇͝h̸̡̛̰͍̹̺̙̖͔̼͆́̈́̀̒́̽̉͂́͊̎ͅo̵̖͎̮͕͇̟͒͌̂̽͌̓̀͆͆̕͝ͅl̴̡̮͈̲̳̦͎͍̯̞͚̘̹̋̌́̋̈̽̓̔̃̆͘͝ ̸̨̛̦̩͉̼̰̭̖̟͎͙̫̦͍̻̇́̾̕m̷̺͓̏́̓͆͋̒̋͗̑͂̇͛͋͘i̴̹̒͌͜ͅs̸̨̨̛͇̭̹̬̣̥̓̊͆͑́́̍̎ò̸͍̞̙̋̾͗̓̿̑͜ ̴̧̞͋͗̑̓̃̎̆͊̇̆̾͘͘͝ý̵̺̗͍̓́͗̍͊́̓͛̃̍͆̕̚͠a̵͓̱͙̽͑̑̆̃ͅṱ̵͚̫̞͇͚̏̆̄͌̈́̇͌͐̂̋̃ǐ̷̡̡̡̩͖̤̥̫̤̞̗͊͋̄̀̌͗̕̕ͅl̸̮̩͍̼͇͖̱̦̻̜͍̍̇͒͐̄̃̿͜͠ơ̷͙͓̜͚̲̪̓̓̍́̄̾s̷̜̖̯̺̱̫͎͕̙͂̿̕͝ ̷̫̉̂͑̂̏̒̊̃̎̚͝͝͠t̴̫̩̘̗̠̥̥̐̈̐͂͐̚͠ę̸͓̞̳̯̜̠͊̆̽̀̐̃̇͗̋̈́̆̕͝ͅl̵̡̠̫̫̣̻͖͈̤̮̝̩̊̕͜e̵̠̥͇̘͋̐͗t̸̞̪͕͕̟͈̣͚̮̄̑̽͐͗̈̇̂̀̒̇̈́͜͠e̷̹̞̍̈́́̃̅͐̍͂͐̎͆̚͝.̸̢̗̗͍̦̺̩̖̟͉͔͊̇̃͆͝ ̴͎̖̙̫͈̬̘̞͚̍̏̔͘S̸̨̡̡̛̩̠̤̩͕̖͎̒̀͋͜͜ͅȩ̶̱͚̺̞̬̪̬͎͕͎̪̩̝̩́̈́d̶̛̻͉̺̞͓̹͎̯̺̗̦̈́͑̄̋͗̚ͅe̸̼͍͖̳̩̭͔͙̍̒̈͘t̴̠̱̱̙͕̟̟̉̑͊̈́͗̾̓̾̕̚ ̴̧̧̛͓̯͉̘̺͍͓̜̣̱͖̦͍̇̀̏͗l̴̰̳̲̓̾̉̿́i̴̜͑̒͊̀͠b̷͍̻͆̆̈́́̿̒́͗̎̾͠͠͝͝ö̵̜̘̹̭́́̌̐̓͐̓́͋̐̏̃̇m̷̢̠̹̀́̎̆̉̉͋̀̔̂̾͗̈̕á̵̡̧̛̭̺͚̩̻̭̜̺̖̳̭̀͛̾̊̉̈́̈̆̍̔̐̚ ̸̧̛̛̪̻̘̆͊̓̿̿͗́̀͛̑͘͠͠ͅͅd̶̡̡̧̧̮͈̖̻̱͇͇͍͐̀̊͋͐̓͐̈́́̍̕̕o̵̡̢̧̟͖̯̲̔̇̏͒̐́̉̅̀̃̓̒ ̴̧̠̫̗̙̲̓͋̈́̋̒̍̋̚͘͝c̴̫̗̗̖̖̰̮̖̮͇̫̙͗̈́̂̾͐ě̴͔͍͚͉̘͙̮̬̼̗͕͈͙͚̒̽ ̷͖͍͗̄̉̅̓̀r̶̪̞͔͖̖̲͉͉̬̋͆ị̵̡̡̙̓̈́̀͑̒̕̚͝ņ̷̞͚̫̘̣͇̩͖͕̠̰͐͐̐̃́̀́͝͠à̸̡̡̡̢̡̺̤̬͓̮͙̟͒̆̒̍̈́̑̓͜ͅl̵̨̧̡̖͓̤̬̲̭̙̣̝̖̀̊̾͜ͅ ̵̧̨̮͍͎̤͕̂͋̉̉̅̀̍́͒̀̀͗͊e̶̛̲̱̗͆̀s̶͔̦͚̖̱͔̻̤͍͍̫͈͍̓i̴̢͕̘̽̌̀̐̀̀͒͗̀̚͝ȅ̴̛͚͔͈̊̒̓̅̂̂͊̌͋̊͘̕ş̷̡̯̥̱̖̙̔̈́͂̔́̓͐̚͝ȏ̵̝̭̯̰͇̠̳̓͊̈̊̈́̾́̎̍́͝ͅn̴̛̫̦̩͖̰̖̺̫̙͇̣̹̹̈́͐̂̒̐͊̚ͅͅ ̵̡̙͎͍̼̙̖̻̔̈́̍̓͛́̒̚͘͝͝m̷̢̛̰̝͈̼͍̜͎̜̹̯̩̻͈̓̈́̽͛̓̂͛̀̇͐̓͘͝é̶̛̘̆̈͑̍̌̐̌̿̽̀̚f̷̱͍̲̫̭̫̱̻̫̜͍̦͉̽̈́͌̉͛͗͆̈́̕͝͝ ̷̱̦̳̪̺͈̹̤̜̘͕̎̏͆̀̑̒̔͑͂͒͊̅̕͜͠q̷̢͓͇̺̞̦͆͗̏͊͑̑͝ͅi̶̠̱̦͒͒͒̀̈́̉̂̆̂̚l̵̨̨͓͓̱̯͔̜̇̽̀͆̀͊̔͜͝i̷̩͖̽͋͋̽̈́̓̾͗̈͆̓͑͠ḋ̸̨̛̗̦̩͊́̽ ̷͕̥͍̣̥̩̙͙̫̗̐͒͆̃̍̆̑̈͋̈̔̂̕͝ĥ̵̳̱̻̯̯̘̰̜̬͙͍̣̀͜ǫ̷̼̪̳͚̈́n̷͈̗͍̼͇̬̬̙̥͂͛̔̑͐̓͠ ̵̡̖̭̦̻̩͕̺́̾͌̅́͘͝c̵̢̱͍̳͎͉͚͚̠͛̈́̉̾̐͂û̷̫͍̱͈̦̜̤͚̙̞̲̘̳͜;̸̢̳̪̰̩̦̲͔͈͇̐̓̽̌͗̉̐̀͗͂ ̷̛̜͇̣̺͈̩̥͇̑̿͆̇̎l̸̺̙͈̫̲̦͈͗̒̑͐̚͝e̴͎͇̭̎̾̑̅ͅl̴̡͉̤̙̬̬̭̠̣̜̮͚̑̐̒o̵̖̺̳͈̗͚̖͓̘̺̪͙̓̎͊̋̈́̚b̶̺̝͔̃́̄͜à̴̱̙̞͈͕̱͇̗̝̭̼̤̎̒͊͜͜ͅ ̸̯̯͇̻̖͇̫͖̖͙̞̖̣̀͗͛̎̾̚̚͘̚ͅy̵̜̓̈́̿o̷̺͗͒̉̂̈́̇̒̅̓̐͐̕͘͝͠s̸̗̖̮̦̩͍͖̥͊̅̈ ̷̨̮̻͈͉͚̬̭̲̄̊͆͊͑ͅẗ̷̨͚͓̰̠͖̻͇̣̪͔̥̝̰̞̔̾̆̿̔̈́̆̂͝͠í̵̡̛̻͎̇͐͆̉̾̑͐͛̇̍͝͝r̷͇͍̩̙͈͖͓̫̦̿̇͐͐́̿͑̌́̓͋͋̇͝͠i̸͎̺͇̬͖͚̘̗̹̥͂̽̃͑̈́͜͝ë̶̡̨̡̛͕̝͖̟̬̭͚̤̮̲̼́̉̊͐͋͆͐̈́̎͑͜͝l̴̗̮̺̼̮͖͓̤̄̉̈́i̴̡̨̩̭̼̠͕̜̻̪̻̠͇͌̽̊̾̊͆͒͛́̀̈́̈́͛ ̵̳̬͚̱̱̣̤̬̜͙̖̮̦͇̓̔̔̇͆́̐̅̎̉̿̐͠͝͝ͅḡ̷͎̣͚e̵̢͇͎̙̜͈͕̟̗̽̾̂̆͂́̔̋t̷̡̢̜̞͇͉̞̪̖̘͖̩̮̞̜̓o̵͙͈̠͖̜͉̺̜̖͕̠̘͚̮̅́ṱ̶̝̦̞͍̅̓̄̀ȩ̴̡̛̦͓͈̣̪̘̹̝͈̞̤͙͇̾̈́̄d̸̡̡͓̰͇͓̯͖̈́͋́̆͆̒̄̽̒́̍ ̷̢̢̤̲͉̭͙̫̹͍͕̖̍͛̅̇͌͂̍̎̌͠l̵̡̢͙̹̲͓̻̇é̵̡̢̻͎̙̤̰̲̥̰͓̫̱̂̃̈́̓͆̀͘ͅẙ̵̢̤̺͎̻͙̻͍̟͚͔̣͚̊̿̈͋̇͑͋͆͋̚͠͠ ̸̟̾̀̔̏̎ḩ̴͔̗͓͓̮̯̹̳̳́̿̉͝ͅô̵͙̲͖̠̖̳͓̪̮̭̅̍̓̇͊̓̚ͅm̵̰̼͈͕̬͙̤̹͙̼̦͎͂̏͗͆̈͒̌́́̐̅͐̑͜ͅe̶̢͕̦̪͈̦̦͌̅̇͆̆̓̒͒̐̅̉̅͝r̴̨̦̬̬̳̻͙͈̬̜̘̬̹̐͋́̏͌̏̔͜͝į̷̛̻̙̻̇̏̀̀̐͗̾͐̀̓̾̚ ̷͈̻̮̄̓̿͊̏̾͝s̷͎̝͙̙̜̘̃̇̎̆͗̔́̏̐̄̕͝ȩ̴̈́̽̿̀̀́̃͌͗̆́̃͘͠͠ņ̷̡̛̟͕̞͖͇̮͚̣̯̉̿́̒̆̈́́͘͜ǫ̸̙̞̮̼̀̊͊̇͊͊̄͐̍͋͘͜͝ ̷͈̭̟͍͂͛̆̓͒͋͠ḭ̷̫͎̣̼͇̖̤̲͇̃̂ţ̵͖̩̦͕̫̋̂̇͜ä̵̗̰̯̜̖̮̬̯̖̣̹̙͆́̂̔̈̏̈̿̀̋̏̀͜͠͝ṛ̶̬̕è̸̖̰̯̜̘̜͖̻͂͂̑̂͂̆͘y̵̛̛̤̘͈̲̭̗̾̒̓̐̌͋̀͑͊̒̿ó̶͈̳͙f̶̡̢͖̫͙̭̬̗̖͍̔͑̃̍̂̑̊̽͛͋̀͑͝ ̴̛̮̈́̈́̿i̵̢͉̭̦̫͕̞̲͎̯͍͇̜̇͐̔̏́͗͊̾̈́̕r̴̝̭͓̅̅̑̿̀̀į̶̱̭̪̰͎̩͇͔̦̯͐̀̓͜t̸̨̧̗͖͙̣̣̯̩͋͌̓͘ų̴̨͖͎̩͈̥̪̘̰̈̀͊̀͑̈́̋͛̆͜ ̵͈̤̆̊̆ş̶̩́̄ă̷̰̦̳̣͎̯͉͉͖̹̻ͅr̸͉̼̗̦͉̲̜̊̎́̂̎̌͑̀́̓͌̕͘͘ͅ,̷̧̢̣̗̦̥͙̭̣͌͛͛́̽́̓̽͑̀͛̇̓͜ ̵̤̩̺͚̗̜̻̈́̅̈̒͋͐͊́͗̑̃͝m̶̡̥̬̫̠̭̫͙̠͇̤̫̆͂̏͋͛͆̑̄̀̀̂͠͠ơ̵̪̣̜̬̺͉̖̻͈̌̆͛̀̐̑͌͑͊̆̚̚̕s̴̡͓̯̼͚͉̖̪̥̳͚͌͌̈́̃̑͜͝ͅę̸̢͉̤̫̮̫͓̺̥̯̼͉͓̌͛̂̊̀̂͂̆̔͗͝c̸͖̣̩̲̘̰̃̐͛͌̀̓̍̑̄ ̴̨̡̡̺̭̗͖͖͔͚̘̫͗̍̈́́̂b̴̧͇̼̯̖̮͕̜̣̎̋͑̈̆́͌͌̕i̴͇͂̂̔͂̓̾̎̆̂͐̂͘̚͝ͅn̷͙̝̙̘̪̫̤̭̰̫̎͐ͅa̵̻͙̰͕̾̈̍͌͆̅̈́̑̅̏̿͘͜͠ ̸̦͋̏̀͝y̸͚̋̆̚i̴͉̖͈̯̺͎̙͙̟͕̜̦̳͚̾̔̈̉̈́͑̀̍̑̊͘̚͘͝ͅt̸̛̝̬̍̍̆͂͋̓̋̾̀͆͝ ̴̡͍̠͚͎̠̝͙̭̳̘͋̏̚r̵̢̡̗̰̣̯͔̊̿ī̵̢̛̙̱̹͍̪͓͉͔̰̙̣̩̓̀̏̂̈͌́̑͠s̶̨̨̳͍̲̼̣̻̼̮͉̈́̈́̃̏̎̂̏̀̇́͛̀̚͠͝i̵͔͚̱̖͋͑̃̕t̵̡̹̖͍̮̮̋͜ͅa̸̛̲̣͈͖̩̞̯̼͈̹̥͌͗̉̐̿͌͌̂́̓̾̕͜͝ţ̵̝̮͕͎̝̼͍̲͙̲̮̲͋͑͌͌̉̀̃̓͋͠ ̵̡͎̩̘̻̜̼̬̗͋̏͑̏̅͊́̓̾̕͠͝b̷̨̧̛̖̳̝̦̩̘͎͍̼̑̊̃̀̎͐̒̒̿́̂̄͂a̸̗̤̖̝̙͇͊̓͂͊̚ͅş̵̹̘̲́̑̐͂̄̚͝ẻ̴̡̝̹̜̱̼̝̜̬̬̎́̏̽̓͂̕̕̕͜͠ͅx̴̨́̈̆̒͂́̆̅͌̀́̕u̶̢̬̭͚͔͓̟̜̦̤̻͓͖͋̓̂̒̂̌̏̔̌̕͠ḹ̸̡̧̰̓͂̏ ̵̡͍̫̼̟̣͉̫̦̠̺͈͔͖́̅͆̎̅̆̾̍̋̃̅͒̚͝h̷̞̼̊͊͑̽͂͑̀̀̑̊̒͘̕͜͝e̶̡͙̅̆̃̒͋ͅn̶̢̡͔̗͈̞̰̼̟̰͖̮̐̉̂̉́ ̸̨̧̡̩͚͈̙͈̲͕̝͈͋g̵̠̼̖̳̮̮̣̖̹̮̟̗͋̏͆́͑̈́͂͐̑̏̆̓͘͜͜͝͝ͅį̶̨̗̯̞̫̽̿̒̍̈ͅe̶̢̪̗̖̠̦͚͖̙̩̺̞̤͝ḫ̸̛͚̮̭̜͎̉͊̾̅́̅̔̾̅̎͌́́̚ȧ̷̢̡̢̧͇͇̹͕͙̻͚̩̓͊͐͊̑͐̌̚g̴̳̙͙̜͎̥̤͎͛̉̉́̑̐̌͝ͅ ̸̢̨͕͙͔̘̺̖͑͆͒͒͊̌͂̂̊̀͋̚͜͜n̶̡̡͍̠̩̩̓͂̐̅͑ẻ̵̞̙̞̔̍́͐̊̆̐̽̌̎͋̕͠g̸̢̛̹̟̦̽̈́̋̈̒̎̈́̓̂̎̔̿͝u̵̬̹̙͎̩͊̋̑̑̓̔̿͒͆̌̒̀̍̓̚ ̴̨̻̖̦̺͂̒̓̈́̋͌̐ͅr̵̟̲͎̪̟͎͙̜̭̖̉́͑̓̆̔͗͜ì̸̥e̶͎͇͖̫͗̉͆̓̽̍ͅͅņ̶̬̗̙͂͒̆̾̐̇͒̔̽̎͆͝e̵̢͍͚͂̽͐͛̚k̵͓̩̰͕̀̽̍̔ē̶̺͓̜̤̩̬̪ ̷̧̻̩̺̪͓̹͉̣̼̦̄̆͊͐̀̒͝n̴̢̧̡̞͖̟̹̲͖͍̱͙̿͆̈́̽͛̄͐̾̂̎̀͘͜͠ả̸̢̡̤̠̣͖͇̩̗̣͔͔͇͜ͅ.̵̡̡͍̯͎͕̘̺̥̣̩͎͓͑̈͌ ̴̱̏͊S̴̮̘̟̈̽̀̽͋͆͆̓̈́ì̸̠̲̝́̈́̐͆̌̒͂̎̀̿͠͠͝͝l̸̡̩̳̠̻̥͇̀͝o̴̢͉̳̗̜̮̅̈́̃̊͑̃̍̒̐͝ņ̸̡̺̞̳͔̝̇̉̀͊̑̐͂́͝ ̶̡̢̡̰̱̩̠͍̖̆̍͛̈́́p̷̢̡͓͚̥̳͈̩̺̹̩̤̠̻̈́ì̴̛̠̹̞̳̮̞̙͙̹̼̻̋̃̍͘͜ḍ̶̛̛͙̲̳̗̤̯͓̳̣̆̎̌̊͂̉͜͠ì̵̢̨̥͍̏͛ÿ̶̨̦̙̙͇̠͚̞͓͔̺̣́͛̏̌͆͊̿͌͌͛́a̶̱̜̍͗͊̀̎̒̆̏͆͑͂̑̅̑͝ ̴̡͉͚̜͎̳̥̼͙̮̤̭̩̠̍͛͜ḩ̶̡͍̞̖̭̫̲̅̊̈́͛̑̉͒͆͂̒̀͆̌̄͜͝ẽ̵͍̹͕̖̋̿͌͐̈̏̾̿̃͌̿͋́͠ ̷̨̙̘̯̞͉͓̎͒̂e̷̳͉̦̝̩̞̞̪͓̳͇͙͍̅͒̅͊̑̇̋̍͛̋̌͌ͅr̸̮͇͖̾́̎̂̊̇̇̿̉͑́̋̋͠ĩ̷̮̳̦͚̙͇͙͂̐́̍̕̕ͅr̵͍͎̰͔̒̓́̾̓͝͝a̷̛̹̰̣̩̱̘͔͈͔͛c̷̡̢̞̙̝̜̓̆̈́̆̊̌͌̐̈͂͒̊̚͘͠i̸̧̝̯̗͐t̶̫͘ ̸̧̠̠̤̦̠̙̤̟̯̫͓̭̈́͘ͅi̴͓͚̹̓̀̃̂̒̉͗̋͑̆̄̌͘͝h̵̢̹͔̻̼͇̼̱̝̼̰̆̎́̎̓͂̀̏̉͗͘̕͝ḛ̶̛̺̙͔̦̜̠̭̀͒͐̈̋͝f̶̲͔̱̫͂̒͒̈́͛̓̍͑͛͘á̶̛͕̲̲̜̖͑̍̌̾̒͗̌̍̽́͘ ̸̛̘̙͐̃͛͂̇̈́̃̈́̀̀͗̕͠b̶̭͈̝̯͔̠̺̭̪̗̬͔̥͌̔̑̈́̃̎e̸̮̩͛́̍̀̑̿̔̋ ̵͍͖̠̤̯̿̐̍i̴̧̜̩̓̐̄̑͜͜͝͝s̸̨̡̺̬̠͓̖͈̭̼̽̑͋̔̅͆̌͛͜a̵̡̧̝̪͎̺̰͕̹̻͉̳̎̇̕.̸̦̭̻̘͍͍̝̻͈͙̉̀̒̐̂͊̽͗̃̀͆̅̀̕ ̸̧̪̩̼̮͔̞̬̬̟͙͇̮͇̿̽̓̆̍̂͠Ĺ̵͈̙͍͔̤̗̝̳͔̫e̸̤̠̲͇͚͎̻̖͚̜͙͐͆́̾̈́̄̍̇̌̄̈́͠l̴̨̝̽̄́̾͂̕͠ǘ̷̗̬̝͕̭̼̋͊͌̽̋͑̋́̄̅̐̋̆͝r̷̛̺͈͈̾͆̌͗̈́̔̌̾̕͠ ̵̡̣̠͊̇̋̅͠ẗ̴̡̛͔̠̘͇̋̍̔̎̌͜a̶̮̝̝̺̞̘̻͎̬͈͎͈̰̙̒̑͆̉͂͆͒̔̇̕ŝ̶̨̛̱̗̖̠̯͖̜̯̾̓̈́̀̂͐̀̔̾͊͝͠ư̵̤͓̾̅͒̋̓̇͒̾ĉ̶̘͖̰̣͇̱͔̮͑̔͌̀̓̉̐͑̐̀͝a̸̡͍͖̳͉̘̤̲͆̏̋͜͝ ̴̩̒̃̓̑̌̿l̸̨̖̭̃̏̿̉̈́̚i̷̢̢̡̺̘̣̝̥̣̲͇͑j̸̧̠͖̳̞̫̖̤̩̗̘̥͈̥̓̓̀̌ͅā̸̭̬̭̾͑͗͊m̸̛̳͚̮̘̱͔̑̉̒̒̌̏́i̶̮̞͍̝͋͂͗̃́͛̿͘ ̸̨̨̲̺̪̼͍̪͈̼̦̪̠͇̳͒́̑̂̒̽͗̓͛̈̈͝͠͝͝i̵̖͔̟̠̮͇̦̜̎͜ͅe̵̲͈̅̈̒́̾͆͋̊́͘͝ḑ̶̪̠̩͚͚̈́̄̈̊͒͒̾̋̕͠ą̸̦͎̟̹͚̯̹͕̫̙̭̠͍̍̅̇̊͂͗̎͊̕ť̸̖̙̗̮̻͂̓͝ë̸̢̢̻̭̣͇́́̀̓̈́ỵ̷̡̟̘̦̺̓̈́͛̈́̋͌̓͆͝e̸̢̫̮̩̝͙͖̼̠͍̭̺͋̓ḫ̸̛̝̖̠̠̖͛̏̄̉̓̊̌͑̊̏͠͠͝ ̸̨͕̤͇̮͉̣̭̘̫͖̹̼͙̂̀͋͒̈̏͒̾̓͜p̴̧̧̠̼̜͎̮̙͗̎̒̄͂̎̾̈̇́͗̃̿̕ḯ̴͖̱̟̼̘͓̌̾͒͑͗̋́̅̈́̓̚͝͝b̶̘̾͑̄́͂͋̂͗̊̔͝͝e̶̙̮͖̟͛͗͌̑̉̔̔̿̌̅̐͝v̵̞̼͙̭̜̰͖͖͊̀̄͒̐ͅő̸̢̬̝͎͓̙̺̼̄̑̂͋̅ǹ̴̡̥͎͓̜̬̦͚̲ ̸̣̤̇̎̂̄̄͗̋̓̎̕̚͝a̷̛̯̠̰̳̞̰̭̠͓̦̱̍͑͛̆̂̕͝p̵͚͐̿́͋̒̆̍̒͘̕o̵̡̧̹͚̰̝̜̩͎͎͖̮̓͗̈͂̓͊̌̃̀̒̀̍̄͜͜!̷̧̱͚͙͓̯̼̩̹̼̍̅̆̊͑̌̋̎̔̈̒͂ͅ ̷̨̙̥͚̜̲̮̰͎͖̤̗̓͊̅̎́͊͋͛͆́̊̕C̸̙͐͊̇̓͛̋́̕ͅơ̶̩̗̬͍̤ͅn̷̡̛̖̟̳̻̭̟̯͉̓̆̎͛̏̾̓̎̊̚͝͠a̸̻̠͉͙̞̻̳̩̗͕̽̆̂́̈̍̀͆͆̚͝͝ ̸͚̠̥̤̮͈̳͓̪̰̞̇͒͘r̷̛͕͕̥͈͚̹̫̹͙̝̊͘ͅǫ̷̛̛͈̗͎̻̘͕̰̜̪͍̹̟̥͈͆̽̊͘͠t̸̢̝̯̣͙͖͓̼̭̥̞̞͈́͑́̿̂ͅö̶̼͖͍̞͇̩̙͍͈͚͉̥́̈́̅̀͗́͌̂̚ͅb̴̡̟̦̦͕̻̱͎͇͋̆̄͆͛̃̓̏̕̚͘ ̷̪̭̬̽̌̃̈̂̕d̸̡̡̪̗̜̗̝̠̪̩̲͇͔͗̈́̑̇̌̑͑̔̔̆̐͒͝ḯ̷͕̰̩̖c̶̨̡̳̻͕̟̠͇͇͇͉̬͛͛̋̅͆͆̈́͘ ̸̺̲͍̦̯̰͈̏̃̆͐͑̄̽͊̆̑̃̋̚͠ë̴̛̮̟̜̤̖̰̭̖́̎̾̚l̴͇̬̠͈͙̰͓̽ͅa̸̛̼͊͌̐̎̒̀́̑̒͒͌̅̄͝ş̷̢̛̻̺̣̻̯͍̈̊́̋̆̌̿̄̌͑̐̌͑͗ͅa̸͙͕͌̆̎̅͆̑̐̈́͝͝p̵̢̢̑͌̀̂̔́̾͆́̌͗̚͝ả̷̖͆̑̿͗̽̑̈́̂s̶̞͎͈͔͍̥͂̀̈́̆̀́̒̉̎͌̓͛͜ ̵͖̞̖͕͍͓͇̘͒͒́͑̏̂̉̃̍̾͠͠ä̷̛͙̭̭͙͍͎̟̪͔̫̩͙̫̹́̅́ǹ̴̡̲̐̋̀́̀͆̕͝o̶̢͍̗̣͔̥͈̝̠̝͓̱̩̩̊͗̂́́͒̏̈́ ̶̗͍̈̂́͆̈́̾̇͐̕̕̚n̶̝̏͂͑͗͑͒̈́̏̚͝ă̸̢̗̭͈̻̗͙̣̯̥̭͔̗͌͊̎̋́̿̓̌̅̀͘͝͝ ̸͉̖̀͊͊̇̀̔̚î̷̡̝̫͙̠͍̳̬͋̑͐̀̒̾͐̕ę̷͚̬͇̦͎̹̖̬̱̌̐͗̂̄̐̾̎̈́̅̈̆̐̕͘͜l̶̨̛͕̙̯̠̰̠̾̍̃͝ę̸̡̯̘̥̹̖̳̬͙̰̠͎̀̒̓̎̉͂̌͗̾͗̕͜͠ṟ̴̮̹̠̜̰̬̑̍è̷̱̊͌̋̀̾͒̔̎̄͋.̸̨̻̟̪̜͉̣̪̘̭̈́̓͆̄̇̃̋̀̌̚̚


	4. MIA

_**Love Is Pain**_

 _ **Chapter Four**_

 **Tracers POV**

The pain. Oh god the pain. That's all that remained, that's all I remembered. The agonizing, uncontrollable pain. Like the blood in my veins suddenly turned into molten rock, slowly distorting my body to ash…

There was never a sound… at least nothing familiar. Not the sound of a bird's call, not the noise of the wind, not even the man-made racket of traffic. There was just nothing.

It looked so real as well, but it wasn't. Or at least it was, but I was not, I was but a ghost. Unable to touch, unable to hear… unable to escape.

The last thing I could recall was sitting in that prototype, and watched in horror as the plane started to splinter around me in a blue vapor.

The screams which followed were not a result of the now fatal fall, but because I, me, myself was being disintegrated by the technology. It was as if someone was very slowly plucking away at my skin, my muscle, my bone with a pair of red hot tweezers.

The blue mist rose into the air as my body plummeted towards the ground, and as I was about to connect I was consumed by a blinding pain and light. I…was gone.

That moment. I would rather experience that moment over and over again, instead of the fate that was bestowed upon me. Being able to see, but unable to touch. Being able to feel, but unable to do anything about it. Being allowed to witness my friends pain, but unable to heal it. I was a shell of myself condemned to limbo, lost to the physical world. Oh god the pain, why is there so much pain. I clawed at my chest, nails piercing into my skin, but to no avail. I wanted to scream, but no sound could escape my stitched lips. Please someone kill me…please end this nightmare…. please…. someone…

 _ **()**_

Her eyes ripped open and focused on the dark grey paint on the ceiling, her gaze remained on the colour as she allowed her mind to relax. The nightmare still very much alive and rattling inside her aching head. Several minutes passed before the stare-off between Lena and the ceiling finished. Her hazel eyes started to probe the surrounding room, absorbing everything before her. The large window which nearly consumed the whole of the right wall, let through the setting sun as its warmth bathed her glistening body. The sun pointed out to her that she was drenched in sweat, soaking the sheets in which she laid on. It must have been a result of that terrible dream she had, all though it was probably closer to hell. And then it hit her, like a sledgehammer in the face. This was not her window, this was not her bed, and this was not her room. Tracers heart started to beat against her ribs, her mind racing with overwhelming thoughts. All the moisture in her mouth disappeared leaving her almost fighting for saliva. She tried to swallow, but instead almost choked on the intense burning that travelled down her throat. Lena threw he body upright unleashing a fury of stabbing sensations through her chest and abdomen. Rasped breaths where the only thing to escaped her clenched teeth, as she fought the irresistible desire to faint. Her hands wrapped around her body, trying desperately to bring some relief to the nightmare she was in. But, what her hands and arms met was a sticky, warm liquid which sent a shiver down her spine. Tracers head flopped down in defeat as she glared at her chest and was shocked by what she saw. Her once beautifully toned and smooth stomach was covered with enormous, jagged scars, which had been crudely stapled and sewn back together. The reason for all the blood was because the staples popping from what seemed to be the largest and deepest of all the gashes. Lena felt like balling her eyes out at the unfamiliar body which was now her own, but before she could even let a single tear through, her ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps. Soft, heavy, Soft, heavy, Soft, heavy!

Tracer desperately scanned the room, hoping beyond hope that she could find anywhere to hide. But it was no use, Lena could barely move around in the bed, let alone get up and fight. Her only option was to sit on the strange bed, hold her stomach and pray for mercy.

 _ **(Several Minutes Before Hand)**_

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! The sudden high-pitched sound of an alarm nearly caused the man to fall out of the leather chair, in which he had been snoozing in. He angrily glared at the device which had so abruptly woken him up. His palm slammed on the off switch as he wiped away sleep from his blue eyes. He swung his legs off the arm rest of the recliner and stood up with a clank, as his robotic leg contacted the white tiles on the floor. As he made his was towards the front door he stretched his back, hearing the loud and satisfying pops of his spine extending. As he placed his still gloved hand on the doorhandle he pulled the large white deagle from its holster, and pressed it against his spine.

The door swung open with a flick of his hand, revealing a youngish delivery boy, whose eyes widened with shock as the sight of this hooded man coated in dried blood. The boy shakenly handed him the brown bag of food as well as the large cup of piping hot coffee. These goods where placed on the counter beside the door as he reached into his pocket and pulled out 20 credits, all while keeping the cool metal of the gun pressed against his backbone. He flung the money at the kid and kicked the door shut with a loud bang. The position of the gun was replaced with the drink, his hand wrapped around the pleasing warmth of the coffee. As he walked he lobbed the food onto the kitchen bench, it glided across the marble surface and came to a halt just before it reached the edge. He glanced up at the clock which hung above the TV, a groan of displeasure left his lips as he realised that in the past 48 hours he had only gotten 20 minutes of rest. And it didn't seem like he would get to relax anytime soon, as the device wrapped around his wrist started to vibrate. This was a sign that a certain someone had finally started to stir, which he was envious of as all she had done so far was sleep.

Coffee in hand he made his way past the main living area towards a darkened corridor, the sound of his mechanical foot followed him as he went. Heavy, soft, heavy, soft, heavy, soft.

 _ **()**_

The footsteps came to a halt at the tinted glass door, his black outline barely visible. The beeping sound of a number pad softly chimed through the tense air, and with a swift swoosh sound the door vanished into the wall. Tracer drew in a forced breath as she saw the same man in white as she did that night. The man took one stride into the room as he looked up away from the cup in his hand, but before he could take another step he froze in place. The blue glow of his eyes looked her up and down before he lifted his hand to his brow and seemed to rub it in frustration. A loud sigh eradiated from his hooded face as he did a one-eighty and stomped out of the room, mumbling as he went. Lena couldn't seem to pry her eyes from the door, mouth slightly ajar in confusion at the strange encounter that unfolded in front of her. The distinctive sound of draws being opened and slammed echoed down the corridor and into the room.

And then it happened again, the unique clatter of his feet meeting the tiled floor, but this time it was much faster and louder.

He practically burst into the room, causing Tracer to flinch with surprise and fright. This time the man had his hands full with damp looking towels and a metal container that rattled with each step he took. He dropped what he held onto the bed beside her and dragged a chair from its position behind the desk. The computer chair was pushed right beside the bed, a slight groan escaped him as he lowered himself down, staring into her eyes as he did so. His stare bored into her eyes as if they were two diamond drills, eventually causing her to look down in defeat at her blood covered hands.

"…Look at me."

His voice was just like it was when he first spoke, soft but layered with a subtle forcefulness. Tracer found herself unable to disobey its will, hesitantly following its command she met his eyes again. He leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands as he prepared to speak. "Okay… Here's the deal. I'm going to talk, and you're going to sit there and listen. Do you understand."

Tracer was left with only one option, she forced her head to move up in down in response to his question. He slowly nodded in unison to her and continued to speak. "Good. Now, first of all, I would like to just say…sorry."

Lena raised an eyebrow in confusion, this was the last thing she thought he would say, but here he was, apologizing for some reason. He cleared his throat as if this conversation was making him uncomfortable, but his voice soon rang out again. "This past day or two would have been exhausting for you, and I'm probably not someone you would like to see after a near death experience. I mean… just look at me… I don't exactly look like a friendly person." He waved his hands up and down his cloaked body to emphasise his point. "Also, I might seem…" He paused as he tried to think of the right word for the situation, clicking his foot as he thought, "…frustrated. But that's only because I've spent the past 48 hours trying to keep your blood _inside_ your body, and you've been awake barely 5 minutes and you're already trying to bleed out again."

He pauses as he flipped open the lid of the metal container that he had brought in and fumbled around looking for something she could not see. Tracer didn't notice that the man had taken his gloves off and his slightly tanned hands were in their place "Now, this is what's gonna happen. I'm going to inject you with this medication."

He held a quite large needle and jiggled it in front of her face, never breaking eye contact as he commenced speaking again. "It should relieve most pain but you will feel a bit numb, then I'm going to sew you back up again, and you are not to move while I do this."

He pointed an accusing finger towards her as the last part left his lips. "Then we are going to go on a date and eat."

Lena was left dumbfounded by the last remark, but was unable to think or even respond as the man had already sprang to his feet and plunged the sharp tip of the needle into her stomach. It seemed to work as soon as the liquid flooded her veins, the stabbing pains in her abdomen ceasing to a very slight ache. As promised her body started to tingle and become numb, without her realisation she flopped backwards onto the bed and stared out at the darkening sky.

As Lena laid there, gazing at the slowly appearing stars, a single tear rolled down her freckled cheek. She wasn't exactly sure why this was the case, was it a result of her finally feeling like she could stop stressing, that this man was not going to cause her any harm. Or was it because of the needle she could feel piercing the tender spot on her stomach. It didn't matter to Tracer, as for now she felt safe, she felt like she was allowed to relax.

Several minutes passed of pricking and sewing, not a word was said between them except for the occasional swear word as the man accidently prodded himself with the needle. The soft attack on her stomach stopped with the sound of the needle being thrown back into the metal box, and in its place a very warm damp towel.

The moisture turning any dried blood back into its original form and being instantly soaked up by the cloth. As gently as the man could muster he rubbed at her damaged skin, blood vanishing as he went. The assassin was forced to loom over her as he moved towards more sensitive areas, it was far more awkward this time seeing as she was conscious. He replaced the dirty towel with a clean one and began wiping any blood that happened to make its way on her breasts.

The sudden change of locations caused tracer to jump slightly, her gaze ripped from the stars and into his eyes. She looked down at herself and blushed redder than a tomato at the realisation that she had been completely naked this entire time.

As he looked back at her, a smile was partly visible through the hood he wore. His eyes went up and down her body again as he spoke. "Ahh, don't be embarrassed, and personally I haven't minded in the slightest."

Lena was Embarrassed beyond belief, she tried to cover her red face with her hands, but they were intercepted midway by him and rubbed down, wiping off the blood that had covered them seconds ago. The man backed up and threw the now dirty cloth into the growing pile of blood stained towels.

It had only taken a few extra minutes, but he had already been sleep deprived and it took every last bit of his will not to crawl in the bed and fall asleep next to her.

But alas, he would not get to have the exciting pleasure as his mind wandered back to the quickly cooling food sitting on his kitchen bench. With the thought, he strolled over to a black cupboard and started to rummage through a large assortment of clothes. Throwing any that didn't suit his needs over his shoulder, eventually the entire contents of the wardrobe was sprawled onto the floor and he still hadn't found anything that would fit her. Tracer watched wide eyed as she observed him making the room a complete mess. During his search for clothes Lena had pulled the covers over her naked figure, even though there was very little point as she assumed he had already seen every inch of her body.

The man started to kick through the clothes that he had already examined, trying to find an outfit he might have missed. As he searched through the mess, a little box tucked in the bottom of the cupboard caught his eye. He had forgotten that it had existed, but he remembered what was in it. It was the only thing left from his old life, the life he had abandoned, the only reminder of what he used to be. He bent down and placed his hands around the oak box, the memory of the contents making it hard to lift even though it weighed practically nothing. He turned around so he was facing the Brit again, the covers still pulled up to her chin. He flipped the golden latch on the box and gently opened the lid, the object in the box looked exactly the same as it did all those years ago. 'This will do,' he thought.

He strolled over to the bed and gestured for her to sit up, which she quickly obliged all while keeping the blanket firmly pressed against her body. He placed the box on the bedside table and shifted Tracer closer to the edge of the bed, her legs for the first time touching the ground. The man took this opportunity to make sure the stiches on her back were still intact, pleasingly they were still doing their job. He placed his hand on her covered thigh, her hazel eyes shifted from his hand towards his face. "Please, if you don't mind," his voice sounding sincerely apologetic, this was the only reason why Tracer allowed her grip to loosen on the blanket. It glided down her curvy body and bundled up on his wrist, and with a quick flick they sailed across to the other side of the bed, leaving her exposed again.

He placed his hand into the box and lightly raised the fabric from its wooden tomb, its thick purple material seemed to shine in the artificial light of the building. He used both hands to carefully lift it fully out of the box, and reveal that it was simply a gown. But by far the most beautiful gown tracer had laid her eyes on, it seemed to have what looked like diamonds imbedded into certain spots, but…surely not.

He opened it up in front of her, its warm looking material seemed to beg her to let it wrap itself around her body. Tracer finally gave in to the urge and giddily stood up to accept the comfy looking invitation. Her knees wobbled like a new born calf as she put pressure on them, but she remained standing as a strong hand allowed her to gain her balance. He gave her a slight nod as if to say its ok, and in return she shot him an innocent smile. He placed both his hands on her shoulders and forced her to turnaround so he was standing behind her. He took this slightly private moment to examine her in more detail, all the curves and beauty she had to offer caused him to mouth the words wow as she remained looking ahead.

The purple fabric was back in his hands mere seconds later and he threaded one of the long sleeves over her arm. He then turned her around again so he could assist her to get her other hand inside the safety of the other sleave.

The material felt amazing on her sore skin, seemingly healing the wounds that gave her discomfort. A look of bliss flashed upon her face, secretly making the man smile kindly, as so far she had only looked in distress. He reached down towards her lower stomach and tied the robe up so it was not hanging loose on her, but tight enough to hug her entire body snugly. He rested both his hands on each side of her hips, a look of puzzlement was what he saw in response to his actions. She wanted to speak but the burning sensation in her throat reminded her that it was an unwise decision.

The corners of his lips were already curling up into a smile as he thought of a response. "So…. time for that date."

There was no time to react to his words as he scooped her up in his arms and positioned her like she was his bride. He precisely made sure his hands didn't touch or interfere with any of the stitching on her back, as the last thing he wanted to do was cause her any more harm. He made his way back towards the glass door, the cosy Brit in his arms as he went. The door automatically opened at his presence and they began to travel down the dark corridor back into the main part of the apartment. Tracer buried her face into the white fabric that stretched across his chest, completely unsure on what she was meant to do while she was being carried like this. The well-lit rooms light threatened to slip through her hidden eyes, the sudden brightness stun as she had gotten familiar to the darkness of her room. She hesitantly began to let some of the light fill her strained eyes, shifting her head from his chest and rapidly blinking to help her adjust.

They ended up stopping just short of a black leather recliner, just one of the seats that encircled around the large TV which was pasted against the wall. Tracer wasn't sure why the man had stopped, but she noticed that he was glaring at the tiled floor just in front of them. She wiggled slightly in his arms so she could see what he was staring at, and to her surprise it was a large puddle of deep brown liquid. Its colour staining the white of the tiles as far as she could see, and in the middle lied a large cup with its lid floating in the sea of liquid. Tracer heard a quite sigh leave his mouth as he looked down at the disaster. "I….I dropped my coffee…"

The exhaustion layered in his sad voice, as the floor enjoyed the perfect contents of the strong brew. He got over the sad sight and walked around the spill and ever so gently lowered the girl into the waiting leather of the chair. He placed his thumb and pointer on her chin and lifted her face up so he could get a good look at her, he wasn't sure exactly why he did this but he made sure it looked like there was a reason for it. Her face was still a bit puffy from the beating and she had a deep purple bruise in the shape of a hand wrapped around her throat. Otherwise she still looked roughly the same as she normally would, except her hair was all over the place. He let go of her chin and placed a remote in her hands, she assumed it was for the TV, but it was so different from any she had ever seen it was almost alien. The man then made his way towards the kitchen, grabbing a brown paper bag that laid on the counter. Which Lena could only assume was the source of that sweet smell, or that could have just have easily been the spilt drink. As he started to make sounds in the kitchen Lena tried her luck out with the foreign object. She started going through the top buttons, assuming that one of them would turn the screen on, and with lucks hand the TV began to purr to life. Tracer couldn't be stuffed surfing the channels, so she left it on whatever popped up, in this case the news. Images flashed across the screen as she snuggled up into the cosy collar of the gown, she tucked her hands under her armpits so they could also feel the warmth.

So far Lena had only been staring blankly at the images that randomly flashed upon her face, but then a certain headline choked her attention fully to the wall. The camera zoomed in on a damaged building, one she had become so familiar with. It was the temporary Overwatch HQ, and it was being plastered all over the news. Tracers heart played against her ribcage, what happened to her friends, her family. Where they alright, oh god, what if they weren't. What if they had died, her mind raced with these disturbing thoughts. She had to know, she needed answers to the questions that flew around her head.

Luckily for her, the man chose this moment to make his way back towards her, a plate in one hand and a white bowl in the other. He noticed the distressed look on her face and craned his neck to see what she was watching, it didn't take long for him to realise why she was freaking out. He placed the platers on the glass tabletop and took a seat next to her, he aimed his body so they sat more or less face to face. He placed his hand on her knee as he spoke in a reassuring voice, "If you're worried about your friends, there is little need. You were the only one that really got hurt that night, they are all completely fine."

His words to her felt genuine, but if only she knew how wrong that was. Her disappearance was tearing everyone apart, for all they knew she was dead and they did nothing to prevent it, they could do nothing.

Lena gave him a thankful nod, this had been the only way of communicating as of so far, but her urge to talk still bubbled in her small form.

The man shot her a smile as he then reached for the white bowl with a silver spoon sticking from it. "Now, I'm not going to sugar coat this. But this is gonna taste like shit."

He placed the bowl in between her thighs, the yellowish paste that resembled off yoghurt stared back at her. He saw a look of disgust which didn't surprise him in the slightest, the substance in his experience did in fact taste like an assault on the senses. "I know, it could at least look appetizing and unfortunately for you I'm going to need you to eat it all. It's to help with the burns down your throat."

Tracer finally understood why it felt like she was breathing fire, she also wasn't too happy about having to eat this…this stuff. She plucked the spoon from the bowl, and lifted the tip towards her trembling lips. 'This better get rid of the pain' she thought as she plunged it into her gaping mouth.

He didn't lie, it in fact did taste like shit. Hell, shit probably tasted like a box of chocolate covered doughnuts compared to this crap. She desperately resisted the urge to gag as she forced the vile food down her blistered throat. He fought the laughter from escaping his mouth as she pulled some very amusing and strange facial expressions while the paste slid down her gullet.

Tracer didn't know how to describe the sensation, at first it seemed to bubble as it sat in her mouth, making her teeth feel uncomfortably cold. Then as it made its journey down the hatch, it felt as if a million little feathers tickled the walls of her throat. Eating away at the discomfort that had called her insides home, a small gasp of confusing relief was her only response to the foul wonder that she had just eaten. She didn't need any invitation to continue, as the rim found its way to her lips and the paste started to disappear rapidly. The smell and taste of the stuff was overpowered by the relief that it gave in return, and it didn't take long for the bowl to be licked completely clean.

To be honest the man couldn't believe his eyes at the fact that she ate the revolting slop so quickly, he couldn't even finish his pancakes at the simple fact that they were stone cold. He grabbed the empty container from her hands and shifted it next to his half-eaten meal. He was about to speak, but thought it might be best if he was face to face with her. He quickly moved so he was now sitting on the edge of the recliner he had previously been sleeping in and positioned himself so he was pointed towards her.

She wasn't sure what he was going to do, but so far all he had done was surprise her, so she didn't think this time would be different. "Can you try to speak for me."

His voice pierced through her thoughts as he placed his hands on his thighs and leaned in urging for her response.

All she had wanted to do since she had woken up was talk, but now she felt numb at the thought of it. A frog stuck in her throat as she desperately tried to find something to say, anything. His gaze didn't leave her nervous face, not making it any easier to speak. She forced the frog down and stared back into the strange blue glow of his eyes, oddly calming her as she tried to speak. "…Whe*."

Her first attempt ending in her coughing her guts out, she doubled over as the sudden jerks caused pain to shoot up her sides. The man saw her face scrunch up in pain so he placed both her hands in his and squeezed them reassuringly.

When Tracer finally caught her breath back she shot the man a smile in return, although he wasn't aware of it. Lena watched as the man lightly caressed her hands, bringing back her confidence in waves with each stroke. This time she didn't need to find the words, she knew exactly what she was going to say. She cleared her throat as the first words she said left her lips, "Tha…. Thank you…"

It felt amazing to finally say something, to finally thank this man for what he did. But oddly, the kind words just hung above them, the man was frozen as if her words shocked his core.

His eyes still wouldn't leave hers, but the reassuring rubbing stopped. The eerie moon loomed behind her, making the situation even more tense. Several minutes passed and nothing had changed, their eyes still intertwined in each other's.

This however didn't bother Tracer as much as she thought, the luminosity of his eyes was quite pleasing to look at, drowning out the surroundings leaving only him in focus. It was as if he had never been thanked in his life, he didn't seem to know how to react. This time it was Lena's turn to show some comfort as she continued what he started. Tracer held on tight to his hands and began rubbing them in the same fashion that he did.

Unfortunately, instead of doing what she intended, she caused alarm bells to sound off in his mind. This triggered him to slide his hands out of hers and shoot to his feet, startling her as he did. He quickly grabbed the plates which still had pancakes on it and marched towards the kitchen. His actions for some reason almost caused tears to fill her eyes, he acted as if her touch was poisonous to him. It was silly for her to feel this way, but all she wanted to do was show him how grateful she was. She stretched her neck to see what the man was doing in the kitchen, and he seemed to be furiously scribbling on a piece of paper. His other hand was wrapped firmly around a familiar looking syringe, its pale blue liquid catching the light and shimmered like it was alive. The ferocity of his writing continued as time ticked by, leaving Tracer with the TV as her only source of entertainment. But after a while the dreary images started to look familiar as the news repeated itself. Lena became quickly bored, as at least half an hour had passed since he had sought refuge in the kitchen. She was still completely baffled at why he had almost sprinted away from her, but thought that it might be best not to dwell on it. She was about to check if he had finished with whatever he had been doing, but when the screen in front of her turned black, she knew that he was already with her.

The small hairs on the back of her neck prickled up as his voice sounded right next to her ear. "So…. I think it's about time we got you home."

His warm breath tickled behind her ear, but was interrupted with the soft prick of a needle in her neck. A sigh left her lips as her body flopped down on the leather couch, and the accustomed sight of her blurred vision returned. The two blue orbs the only things that remained focused as they loomed over her. Only one thought fluttered around in her empty head, repeating itself over and over again. 'You're not going to die today…. You're not going to die today…'


End file.
